The Greatest Gift
by iris fibonacci
Summary: December 1900, Scarlett receives a telegram from Rhett asking her to come to him in Charleston. As the story unfolds, we see where their separate lives took them, as they come back together on the eve of the 20th century. TEARJERKER be forewarned!
1. Chapter 1

_**Gone with the Wind**_** and all its characters are the property of Margaret Mitchell and her heirs. This story borrows them and also poaches a few character names from Alexandra Ripley as well. I own nothing.**

The Greatest Gift

Prologue - October, 1876

"Sister Mary Joseph, does God love me?"

Ella's plaintive query caused Sister momentary surprise. "My precious child, you have been studying your catechism in preparation for First Communion. You know God loves you. He loves us all."

Ella gazed up into Sister Mary Joseph's placid face, so peaceful and so kind. In some ways, she reminded Ella of her beloved Aunt Melanie. She felt utter trust and acceptance in the presence of this woman of faith, her mother's baby sister Carreen. "But, Sister, does God love Wade, and Mother, and Uncle Rhett?"

"Of course, He loves us all, and His love is perfect. Are you troubled, Ella?" Carreen knew of the collapse of her sister's marriage, and thought the separation of husband and wife had caused this disequilibrium in the child. It never occurred to Sister, as one raised in an environment of love, that Ella's questions sprang from a terrible sense of vulnerability and sadness, that the adults that she loved and trusted could let her down repeatedly and make her feel insecure and unlovable, even to God Almighty.

"If God loves us, why did He let Bonnie and Aunt Melly die? If God loves us, why did He let Uncle Rhett leave us?" The expression on Ella's face was ineffably sad. She missed her family. First, it broke apart through death and desertion, then, her mother experienced an illness that defied a child's understanding. Finally, she was exiled to this convent school in Charleston. That's what it felt like to Ella anyway, exile. At this moment she felt she would rather be hiding under a bed at Tara, avoiding the wrath of her mother, than living among strangers in this unfamiliar place.

Carreen attempted to reassure the little auburn-haired girl, "Precious Ella, God's love is the perfect balm for any hurt in life. His love is sweet and endures forever. Best of all, He loves us no matter what we do. We do not need to prove ourselves worthy of His love. It's not that way with people, even the people we love very much."

Ella sucked in her breath and nodded appreciatively, a thoughtful look on her face. It had been three years since her stepfather walked out of their lives. In that time she had seen him four times for brief visits and he seemed distant and disengaged, not the man she remembered with much tenderness. After these visits, Mother's despair knew no limits. It frightened Ella. Scarlett would lock herself in the office at Tara for hours. Mammy and Aunt Suellen said she was in there drinking. Ella would sit outside the door and wait for her mother to come out. She would lead her to bed and give her kisses, hoping to awaken her old self. Yes, her mother could frighten Ella when she was angry, but she had life in her dancing green eyes and she also did fun things, like go to the park to get ice cream or ride the carousel.

Eventually, her mother got better, made friends with Mrs. Tarleton and built a new house. She bought horses and started a business with the Tarletons. Then she sent Ella to this school, the Convent of St. Catherine School for Girls in Charleston. Ella was getting used to it. Her favorite part was getting to know her mother's youngest sister, Carreen. Sister Mary Joseph was the kindest, most loving person Ella had ever met, after Aunt Melanie. She filled a void in the girl's life. Every Sunday, Carreen took Ella for a half hour stroll through the convent gardens. This brief time alone was the brightest spot in her week and Ella always looked forward to it.

They were nearing the end of their walk, when one of the novices came out of the building to tell Carreen Ella had a visitor in the guest reception room. A wide smile lit Ella's face. She knew it would be Uncle Rhett.

They entered the reception room, and Rhett rose to greet the nun and the little girl. Ella flung herself into her stepfather's arms.

"Oh, Uncle Rhett, I've missed you so much." She hugged him fiercely around the waist.

He gently peeled her off, "Let me look at you, Ella. How you've grown! You're a young lady now, Miss Kennedy." He gave her a courtly bow and she giggled with appreciation.

Then he turned his attention to the nun. "Sister, I am Rhett Butler, Scarlett's husband."

Sister Mary Joseph extended her small hand, and Rhett clasped it in greeting. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Butler."

"Please, call me Rhett. After all, I am your brother-in-law." He smiled pleasantly with his lips, but Carreen noticed that the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Let us be seated," Sister gestured to a sitting area.

They all sat; Sister in a chair and Rhett and Ella next to one another on the settee. There were two gaily wrapped packages sitting on a table next to the settee. Rhett gestured to them, "These are for you Ella--birthday presents." Ella's tenth birthday was just two days away.

"May I open them now?" She restrained herself from tearing the gifts open immediately because Aunt Carreen was there. She did not want to disappoint her by appearing covetous.

Rhett laughed easily, "Of course Ella, I want to see how you like them." He handed her the packages.

Ella tore away the colored wrapping paper with glee, while Carreen smiled happily. It made her feel better after their conversation in the garden to see Ella joyful, to see the tender concern of her stepfather.

Ella let out a happy squeal when she opened the first box and saw two small paintings carefully wrapped in tissue paper. She removed the tissue paper to reveal oil paintings of ballerinas with gilt edged frames. Each picture showed a ballerina in a different pose.

"Uncle Rhett, they're beautiful. I've never seen anything so beautiful." Ella's eyes glowed with happiness. Surely this was proof he still cared about her. Maybe Aunt Carreen was right about God and His love.

Rhett patted Ella's knee and smiled. "These paintings were made by Edgar Degas. I met him in New Orleans four years ago, and I've seen him in Paris as well. He and some friends have developed a new style of painting called impressionism. The art critics are still skeptical, but I rather liked them. I'm glad you like them, too. Open the other one, Ella," Rhett prodded.

Ella opened the second box and found art supplies: charcoal pencils, pastels, water colors and paper for drawing and painting.

"Now you can create your own masterpieces," he said, smiling warmly.

"Oh, thank you so much Uncle Rhett." She slid towards him on the settee and gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek.

Ella turned to Carreen, "I'm going to put these things in my room before Uncle Rhett and I go out, is that all right, Sister?"

Carreen smiled sweetly. "Of course, dear. Be quick--you must return before vespers."

Ella ran from the room carrying her treasured presents. The adults watched as she disappeared out the door.

Carreen then addressed Rhett, "It was very kind of you to come here for Ella's birthday. Such generous gifts! Ella is lucky. She does feel the separation from her family very keenly. We have formed a bond; however, my Superior discourages worldly attachments in the Sisters. I must be very careful not to get so close that I arouse any suspicion."

Just like the Catholic Church to discourage a woman from becoming overly attached to her own blood kin, damnably unnatural, Rhett thought contemptuously. "I travel a great deal and spend many months of the year in Europe. I do what I can. I love my stepchildren," he said.

"Ella still grieves the loss of her sister, and the break up of your family." Carreen observed Rhett stiffening slightly at these words. "You have my deepest sympathy for the loss of your daughter. I have prayed for you, and the child."

"Thank you Sister," Rhett murmured.

Tentatively she broached the sensitive subject of Rhett and Scarlett's separation. "How have you and Scarlett explained your situation to the children?"

"That is a private matter." Rhett spoke softly but emphatically.

"I meant no disrespect, nor am I trying to pry. You see, just now Ella and I had a conversation in the garden about her feelings. She expressed a good bit of anxiety about her family situation. I just thought you might want to know, to allay her fears in some way." Carreen lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. She felt she had gone too far and she did not want to alienate Rhett, for Ella's sake. She fingered the crucifix on the rosary beads hanging from her waist, breathing a prayer for wisdom.

Rhett observed her humility and relaxed, "I'm sorry, Sister. It's a touchy subject."

Carreen smiled, "I think I understand." She added delicately, "My sister has a rather, ah, tempestuous nature." She remembered her sister's behavior during the war when their lives were so hard. One did not dare cross Scarlett.

Rhett laughed and said, "Indeed." Ella came skipping back into the room. She was the picture of happiness. Rhett was relieved that his conversation with Sister Mary Joseph was now over. He rose and took Ella's hand, "I must not keep Miss Kennedy waiting." Turning to face Carreen, he gave a little bow, "Sister, it was a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure was mine, Rhett." She rose gracefully from her chair. "Remember, Ella, you must be back in time for vespers or Mother Superior will be cross." Sister smiled and stroked Ella's cheek lovingly. "Goodbye." Like a fleeting shadow, she glided off through the door. Then she was gone.

Rhett led Ella out the convent door and through the gate, into the bright sunshine of a beautiful autumn afternoon.

Sitting on a park bench, eating ice cream, Rhett noticed the ice cream in Ella's dish was starting to drip on her dress. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started wiping her dress, mildly scolding her to be more careful. She had been watching two children playing with a puppy, daydreaming for a moment, and his voice startled her. When she looked up at her stepfather, with his stern mien, Ella tipped the little dish to one side, and the softening ice cream fell out of it onto the ground.

"Ella, you're being very careless." Though he was irritated, he didn't want to be harsh with the girl.

Ella was trying very hard to behave perfectly, and this mild rebuke wiped away the happiness she felt earlier. "I'm sorry Uncle Rhett. I...I'm a clumsy girl." She turned away from him and started to cry. "You're going to leave me again, aren't you?"

"What do you mean, Ella?" Had she looked, she would have seen his concern.

The weight of the world seemed to be resting on the slight shoulders of this little girl, not quite ten years old. He reflected on his conversation with Sister Mary Joseph. This must be what she meant. He gently slipped an arm around Ella's shoulders and drew her towards him. Pressed against his chest, the tension in her body began to ease. When she regained control, he handed her the handkerchief he used to clean the ice cream off her dress, turned so that the sticky spots were inside. She dried her eyes. "Now tell me what this is all about," he said.

"I want to go home! I want to go back to Atlanta. I want everything to be the way it was." She blinked rapidly to keep tears from falling as she wailed, "I want my family back." All her irrational longing to return to the past came tumbling out through her words. Rhett was stunned. He lifted Ella's chin and looked directly at her.

"I miss that time, too, Ella." He spoke softly, the pain of his own loss evident in his face. "But sometimes things happen that we can't change, as much as we would like to, and it is not possible to go back. We can't have Bonnie or Aunt Melanie back. We are here, and we must go forward, as best we can, without them."

There was so much a little girl couldn't understand. He no longer loved her mother; their marriage was effectively over. But wasn't that the cause of Ella's distress? She said she missed her family. Then, too, Melanie Wilkes, whose loving heart had bound their family together, was gone. In her place was Scarlett, a cold substitute. After Bonnie died, Rhett had been overwhelmed with grief. He now realized that Wade and Ella must have suffered as much as he did when love left their lives. He never thought to reach out to his stepchildren as they grieved for Melanie. Maybe now was the time to make amends.

"You still have a family: your mother, Wade, Uncle Will and Aunt Suellen, and your cousins at Tara," Rhett said, attempting to ease Ella's distress.

"You don't understand, Uncle Rhett!" Ella protested, with fervor. "I want to be loved; I want to be special to someone, like Bonnie was to you. None of them think I'm special. Sister Mary Joseph keeps telling me I'm special to God, but it's not the same."

"Whether you realize it or not, I know you are special to your mother." A child should be special to her mother; however, Rhett wasn't sure this applied to Scarlett. Easing Ella's distress was more important than literal truth right now.

"But she sent me away!" She began to tear up again.

"Ella, one reason your mother sent you here to school was so that I could see you more often. It was a decision we reached together." He paused and gently stroked her hair, "You are special to me as well."

"D-d-does this mean you're still part of my family?" she stuttered, searching his face for affirmation.

Rhett thought for a moment, how to answer this delicate question. "Ella, I think of myself as your father even though we are not of the same blood. I have loved you since you were a baby. That will never change, whether we live together or apart."

"Oh." Her round eyes were open wide and still brimming with tears.

He continued gently, "Would it make you feel better if Wade joined our next outing?"

"I g-g-guess." She sniffed, then, blew her nose in Rhett's sticky handkerchief.

"You must miss your brother, too." Her loneliness was palpable, and he wanted to alleviate it, if possible.

Ella smiled wanly, "Yes, a little." In reality, she missed him a great deal. Even though Wade was going to school in Charleston as well, she didn't see him very often.

"I have an idea, how about if next Sunday I bring you and Wade to dinner at my mother's house? Would you like that?" If Ella missed her family, he would give her the next best thing, contact with his family.

Her expression was restrained, but her voice rose with excitement, "Do you really mean it?"

Rhett smiled with relief at this evidence of her lightening mood. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it! I'll ask my mother if she would mind two guests next Sunday."

He checked his pocket watch, "We should start back." He winked at her as he echoed Sister Mary Joseph's words. "We don't want Mother Superior to be cross with you."

As they walked, Rhett told Ella about the art show he had attended in the spring in Paris, how he was buying paintings through a well-known art dealer, Paul Durand-Ruel, and bringing them to the States. He told Ella about the work of some of Degas' friends: Edouard Manet, Berthe Morisot, Auguste Renoir, Claude Monet, Camille Pissaro, Alfred Sisley, Paul Cézanne and an American woman, Mary Cassatt, who was painting in Paris. Ella marveled that two women were among this group of innovative painters.

Rhett laughed, "Maybe someday you will be a member of their group. But first you must learn to draw and paint well. Would you like to take art lessons, and eventually learn to paint with oils?"

Ella's eyes grew large with excitement. "Yes, more than almost anything else."

"Good, I think I can arrange for some lessons for you. I will discuss this with Sister Mary Joseph."

When they arrived at the convent school, Rhett hugged Ella and wished her happy birthday. She thanked him for all the presents he had given her this day. She loved the paintings and the art supplies, but the greatest gift was making her feel loved again, and for a brief time, almost as special as Bonnie.

**A/N: Mary Cassatt was an admirer of Degas' work for many years before actually meeting him in 1877. I take liberties here by implying they had a relationship in 1876. She did not exhibit with the Impressionists until 1879. She was, however, painting in Paris from 1873 on. **


	2. Chapter 2

**The usual disclaimer applies, the characters in this story are the property of Margaret Mitchell and her heirs. I own nothing.**

December, 1900

In the gathering dusk, Scarlett strode purposefully toward her house. It had been a long day in the stables, and she was tired and needed a bath. The sight of her home, the warm glow of lights in the windows, made her spirits rise despite the fatigue. She lived alone in this house in the Georgia countryside. In her father's memory, twenty-five years ago, she developed her business, Butler-Tarleton Stables, and built this house in a big pine grove where Tara and Fairhill, the Tarleton plantation, joined. Before the war, her father had encouraged Scarlett to marry one of the Tarleton twins, promising to build a house for her on this site. While she never married a Tarleton, joining her fortune to Beatrice's knowledge of horses had been a finer union and brought her the happiness she never knew in marriage. For the most part, her lifestyle suited her; traveling to racing venues with her horses, watching the races, and attending parties and balls occupied the spring and summer. Training, breeding and maintaining business contacts kept her happily busy at other times of the year. She retained some business interests in Atlanta as well. At times she missed the bustling city and considered moving back, but the pull of the land, her land, was too great. Tara was her father's legacy to her, and Scarlett felt she owed it to her children and grandchildren to maintain this place for them. She had sacrificed much to keep Tara in the family.

Scarlett's devotion to and sense of responsibility for her family was her one shining virtue. She lacked the virtues of the two great ladies she had been privileged to know: selflessness, gentleness, the quiet strength and grace of her mother and the maternal, loving heart of Melanie. She was too selfish to be unconsciously kind and considerate to others. Most of the time, her patience was wafer-thin. Age had mellowed her, made her less prickly and better able to appreciate life's unexpected gifts—like grandchildren. On this evening in early December, she was looking forward to spending Christmas with her grandchildren, and her preparations for a visit from her son and his family were about to go into full swing.

Upon returning to the house Scarlett saw an envelope on the marble topped table in the entry—a telegram. She called for Prissy and climbed the stairs to her room to clean up and change clothes. The telegram was from Rhett: _Come to Charleston immediately, important business to discuss._ What could this be about? She hadn't had any communication with him for a number of years. She frowned. "I'll think about this later," and put the telegram on her dresser before attending to her toilette. Suellen was expecting her for dinner.

Scarlett's relations with her sister improved as they aged, although they were never exactly the best of friends. After Scarlett's breakdown that first hard year she spent back at Tara after Rhett left, Will had brokered an uneasy truce between the sisters. He impressed upon his reluctant wife the need to treat Scarlett with kindness because of her fragile emotional state, and the fact that she provided a great deal of financial support for the maintenance of the farm. Before she died, Mammy influenced Suellen and Scarlett's efforts to reconcile when she stated flat out that their mother would be grieved to see the sisters cut each other with such sharp knives, and that since they were the last two O'Haras left at Tara, they must honor their parents' memory and make peace; they were, after all, family, and that meant more than anything. At this stage in their lives they had much in common. They were both grandmothers and each faced the world without a husband by her side, for Suellen was now a widow and Scarlett was long estranged from Rhett.

The O'Hara sisters frequently discussed the disposition of Tara. Because there was no man to run the farm, Suellen and Scarlett had rented several hundred acres to sharecroppers. They thought ahead to the next generation. Wade was a lawyer in Atlanta and had no interest in the day-to-day operations of a large family farm. Ella lived in New York with her husband, who worked in acquisitions for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Suellen hoped one of her sons-in-law would come forward to take up the reins, but so far none had shown any interest. The stables would continue to be run by whichever Tarleton or O'Hara grandchild or great-grandchild showed the interest and desire to carry on the business. Scarlett had high hopes that Wade's oldest child, Melanie Hamilton, would follow in her footsteps as she loved to ride and spent as much time as possible trailing alongside her grandmother in the stables.

After their meal, Scarlett brought up the telegram from Rhett. Suellen always told Scarlett she was well rid of him, and Scarlett was sure that Sue would dismiss the importance of his request out of hand. Suellen knew that Scarlett still harbored the faintest hope that one day Rhett would return to her. It was fruitless to argue the point, especially now, twenty-seven years after he had left. It was Scarlett's one great area of vulnerability and the whole family knew it. Suellen asked hesitantly, "Are you going to go?"

"I don't know. I'd like to know what he wants before I decide." Scarlett pondered the nature of his request. She and Rhett hadn't had any business interests in common for years. Rhett had withdrawn from the Butler-Tarleton Stables Limited Partnership after the Kentucky Derby of 1886. "Maybe I should go to Atlanta and ask Wade if Rhett's lawyers have sent any papers for my signature that I haven't received."

"Maybe," Suellen smirked, "he's finally serving you with divorce papers so he can marry that young Frenchwoman." The smile died on Suellen's lips when she saw the look of outrage on her sister's face.

Scarlett seethed. "The devil take them both! Besides, the Frenchwoman's not that young anymore!" Suellen still knew just how to get under her sister's skin.

In her heart, Scarlett knew what she would do; she couldn't stay away from Rhett. As she returned to her home, she thought about her next step. Something unsaid in the telegram troubled her greatly. After Henry Hamilton retired from law practice, Wade became Scarlett's primary legal counsel. She needed to discuss this with him; Wade would know what her best course of action was.

The next morning, Scarlett gazed, unseeing, out the window, as the train moved through the countryside toward Atlanta. She was remembering her return to Tara so many years before, after all the personal losses she had suffered in 1873. It was a painful time of reassessment, and for awhile it seemed as though she would not emerge intact. She descended into bleak melancholy and sought refuge in drink.

Spring, 1874

"This is all I have left," muttered Scarlett as she reached for the cut crystal decanter of brandy. "My parents died, my best friend died, my husband left me. This brandy is all I have left to give me the strength to go on. I always thought I didn't need anyone else, but now I know better, now I know how much I depended upon them all. Now I am alone, and this brandy is the only thing that helps me make it through the night, and God help me, even some days."

Scarlett tipped the glass and drained it, poured another, and drained it as quickly. As the familiar warmth spread through her limbs, she began to relax. She was lying on her bed at Tara, the same bed she had slept in as a girl, young and carefree. The same bed she had shared with Charles Hamilton as a virginal bride, the bed in which her son had been conceived. "Marriage," she thought, "is overrated." The only time she ever felt moved by a husband was with Rhett. He used her and pushed her away. She poured more brandy and drank. Even in her brandy-numbed mind she was able to grasp that she had used Rhett for his money, but she would think about that later.

This night was different. Maybe it was the storm outside, the flashes of lightning illuminating the corners of the sparsely furnished room, corners where her ghosts were hiding, waiting to torment her. She had to drink more to blot from her consciousness the faces, the images, the sound of their voices. If they didn't leave her alone, she would go mad! She poured another brandy. "Pa showed me how to drink," she thought. "But he chastised me for drinking spirits. A lady did not drink spirits. No, Mother, please don't tell me how badly I acted by taking Suellen's beau." More brandy. Then she visualized the stolen kisses in the wind swept orchard with Ashley. "No, Melly," her mind screamed, "he didn't want to leave you. He didn't want me. Oh, please, go! Leave me alone!" She drank until she passed out, and in the morning Mammy couldn't wake her up. The previously full brandy decanter was now empty.

When she awakened there was fierce pounding in her head, like ordnance exploding in her brain. Her mouth was dry as dirt, and she felt nauseous. Opening her eyes a slit, she saw Ella and Wade staring at her from the foot of the bed. She tried to raise her head off the pillow, but moaned with the effort and dropped it immediately. Wade skittered out of the room calling for Mammy, "She's awake."

Ella tentatively offered her some water. Scarlett raised herself up on one elbow and sipped the water gratefully. She patted Ella's arm in appreciation.

"Are you feeling sick today, Mother?" Ella asked apprehensively. Sick was their euphemism for hung over, and it was happening more and more frequently.

"Just a little, Ella." Then suddenly Scarlett was overcome with a wave of nausea. She lunged for the wash basin on her dresser as her stomach contracted painfully, and then, spit out a mouthful of bile and water.

Ella gaped at the sight of her mother retching. "C-c-can I help you?" she stuttered.

Scarlett sank to the floor. "No, just go."

At that moment Mammy exploded into the room, filled with impotent fury at her mistress' behavior. "You ain't got no sense Miss Scarlett. You drinkin' like you w'ite trash. What you think yo' chillun thinkin' 'bout you? Yo' ma be tuhnen in her grabe if'n she could see you now. It ain't fittin', no ma'am, ain't fittin'."

Ella and Wade ran from the room and out into the woods behind the house. This life here at Tara was a nightmare. They knew Aunt Melly was dead. They knew something had happened between their mother and Uncle Rhett, but they were not sure what. But the most disturbing aspect of this existence was the change in their mother. Ella had been frightened by what she saw and was crying. Was their mother going to die like Aunt Melly or Bonnie, or even like her father? Wade patted his sister distractedly. He wanted to comfort her, but he shared her anxieties.

The children could now hear indistinct voices coming from the house; loud voices raised in anger. They could not see her, but Scarlett was running from them, Mammy and Suellen, screaming "Leave me alone!" She was running to her refuge, the burying ground. When she passed through the low wrought iron gate she dropped onto the ground beneath a cedar tree, panting from the exertion of running.

As fate would have it, at this time Beatrice Tarleton was riding from Fairhill to Tara to borrow a mule for plowing. She and Will had worked out this arrangement several days ago. From a distance, Beatrice could make out a figure in the burying ground, so she steered her mount in that direction. She was shocked to see Scarlett Butler sitting in the grass next to her mother's grave, holding her pounding head in her hands, and it looked like she was weeping.

Taking Scarlett's panting breaths to be sobs, Beatrice thought, "It's been almost ten years, you'd think she'd have a better handle on her grief by now." But then Beatrice remembered Scarlett's fresh loss and she felt a little sorry for her. She pulled the horse up and dismounted at the graveyard gate. Beatrice called to Scarlett, gently, trying not to startle her. "Scarlett, what's the matter, honey?" When Scarlett realized Beatrice had seen her in this state, her eyes widened in horror, as she scrambled to her feet and shook her skirt.

Mumbling something that sounded like "please excuse me," she took off running toward the river. The fog in her mind was starting to lift. Since Beatrice Tarleton had seen her shame, Scarlett suspected that it would only be a matter of time before every family in the county was aware of her unseemly behavior. It was bad enough that she was an outcast from polite society in Atlanta, now she would be shunned by her neighbors in Clayton County as well.

Beatrice got back on her horse and rode on to the barn at Tara where she met Will. Not one to mince words, she asked "What's the matter with Scarlett? I just saw her down at the graveyard acting mighty strangely. Has she snapped?"

Will shook his head, "Scarlett ain't been the same since she got to Tara six months ago. Losin' Miss Melly and little Bonnie the same year hit her really hard." He left off the greatest blow of the last year, losing Rhett. No one needed to know Scarlett's business he reckoned, unless she told them.

Beatrice shook her head, "I never would have thought that Melanie Wilkes' death would hit her this hard. They say Scarlett's husband went out of his mind with grief over the child. Where is he right now? Seems like they should be comforting each other." Beatrice eyed Will sharply, looking for some hint in his facial expression.

As usual Will's face was placid, his expression mild, as he chewed on a straw. "Rhett's been here to see Scarlett and the children a couple of times, he travels a lot on business. Miss Melly was the best friend Scarlett had, and I don't think she rightly knowed it until she was gone. She's tore up pretty bad."

Beatrice nodded thoughtfully. "A damn shame about Melanie." Then she remembered her reason for coming to Tara, "So where are you hiding that mule, Will? I need to get home so Jim can start plowing."

After Will led the mule out of the barn and handed it over, Beatrice started to leave, then added as an afterthought to their conversation about Scarlett, "Will, tell Scarlett she can come talk to me if she'd like. I know how it is to lose a child."

Will smiled appreciatively and removed the piece of straw he was chewing from his mouth. "I surely will Miss Beatrice. I have a suspicion that you may be able to help Scarlett more than you know. Remember how we was talking about you buying some horses?"

"Who's got that kind of money?" Beatrice snorted. Will looked at her and saw the realization dawn on her, "Scarlett does, doesn't she?"

Will nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling, pleased that Beatrice had caught his inference. "You should talk to her."

"I'll do that, thanks. And thank you for the use of the mule." As Will watched Beatrice ride off, he hoped that this conversation would mark a turning point for Scarlett and the entire family at Tara.

That night Mammy sat in a chair in the corner of Scarlett's room. She figured she would bodily prevent her from seeking the brandy bottle. This had to stop, the sooner the better. Scarlett had slowly fallen to the bottom of a pit of sorrows. She could conquer anything as long as she could work out a practical solution, square her shoulders, and go to work. The pain and emptiness of her grief could not be faced down in the same way. She could not manipulate reality in any way she understood in order to deal with these feelings and the crippling anxiety that accompanied them. Alcohol was her only release. It was worrisome for all the residents at Tara, especially Wade and Ella. Suellen had long ago lost patience with Scarlett and her antics. She fervently wished her sister would go back to her mansion in Atlanta and leave the Benteens in peace. Little did she know that Scarlett hated the sight of the Peachtree Street mansion. Once her pride and joy, now, it merely reminded her of her dead child and failed marriage. Maybe one day Scarlett would return to Atlanta, but that day hadn't arrived yet, and so the Benteens were stuck with her and her children.

It took two full months of abstinence for Scarlett to overcome the physical effects of her dependence on alcohol. Stalwart Mammy made sure her lamb was not drinking in her room at night. It was a terrible struggle for both of them. For the rest of her life Scarlett would fight the urge to self-anesthetize in the face of emotional turmoil, especially when it concerned her estranged husband.

#

That afternoon Scarlett sat across the big desk from Wade in his Atlanta law office as he scanned the brief message in the telegram. "So what do you make of this?" she asked.

"Are we speaking personally, or in a business sense?" He searched his mother's face for any sign that this troubled her. As much as possible, he sought to shield her from destructive interactions with Rhett, fearing that she would begin drinking again. "What if the Frenchwoman is there?"

"Oh, Wade, I'm not going to fall apart. He made his feelings for me quite clear." She spoke with airy disinterest, despite the tension she felt. "I'd like to know what he has up his sleeve. Is there any way you could make a few discreet inquiries?"

"Ever the sly fox." Wade said with a grin.

"Do you mean me or him?" Scarlett countered with a grin of her own.

Wade just smiled, thinking to himself, "Both of you."

"Why don't you spend the night with us?" he asked. "The children would be delighted to have you here."

"No, Wade, I don't think that would be wise. Heaven knows, I don't want to aggravate Alicia by showing up unannounced, as much as I'd like to see the children." Scarlett's voice was heavy with sarcasm and her brow wrinkled in disapproval, thinking of her strong-willed daughter-in-law. Alicia didn't like surprise visits from Scarlett, and wasn't afraid to say so.

Wade waved his hand dismissively in reaction to Scarlett's concerns. "Come home with me for dinner and we'll discuss this," he said. "Should you decide to travel to Charleston, will you need to return home first?"

"Of course. I need to pack," she said.

"Good, that gives me at least three days to send a telegram or two of my own, and hopefully get a response for you." He jotted a note of reminder on a pad of paper on his desk.

"But, I'm still not sure I want to go. It's so close to Christmas." Scarlett considered putting off the trip until the first of the year, but then the nagging worry would cast a pall on the holidays for her.

"What do you have to lose, Mother? Christmas is three weeks away. You can be back in a week," Wade said. "Besides, it would be an opportunity to go see Aunt Carreen."

Scarlett pondered this possibility. It would be best to get this meeting with Rhett over with as soon as possible. She could go to Charleston, find out what he wanted, and then visit her sister. A tiny flicker of anxiety caused Scarlett to shiver involuntarily. What _if _the Frenchwoman was there? Immediately she put the thought out of her mind, the telegram said "business to discuss," and that woman was certainly none of Scarlett's business. She didn't take money from Rhett. Neither her house nor her property was titled in his name any longer; she had nothing to lose. At this late stage in his life, could he possibly be initiating a divorce action in order to keep her from inheriting any of his assets? He had left her twenty-seven years ago and was quite old now, so there was no telling. "Well," she thought, "I don't need his money. I guess I'll find out soon enough."

"All right, Wade," she said. "I'll go."

"Very good." Wade smiled at his mother as he stood up, walked around the big desk, and escorted her to his office door.

"It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Wade Hampton," she said as she extended her hand to him.

"Likewise, Mother," he said as he took her hand and shook it.

Three days later, Scarlett returned to Atlanta. All Wade had been able to find out was that Rhett was sick. So she left for Charleston, still a little ill-at-ease, but convinced she would be back in Georgia within a week.


	3. Chapter 3

**All characters are the property of Margaret Mitchell and her heirs. Joseph is mine, otherwise I own nothing.**

Scarlett had wired Rhett the date and time of her arrival, and upon disembarking at the station in Charleston, found the Butler carriage and driver waiting for her. The ride was short and with each passing minute, Scarlett could feel her pulse rate pick up and the heat rising in her cheeks. What had sounded so reasonable in Wade's office, now seemed to be a fool's mission, and she began to regret her decision to come here. Before she could ask the driver to return to the station, he stopped the carriage in front of the lovely old house on the Battery, the one Rhett had purchased for his mother after his father's death in 1866.

As she climbed the front steps, the door opened and she was greeted by a tall, black man who spoke with the lilting accent of the Caribbean. "Missus Butler, welcome." He introduced himself as Rhett's valet, Joseph. Stepping into the foyer, Scarlett could hear a mantle clock softly chime the half hour somewhere in the house, otherwise it was absolutely still. Joseph helped her out of her coat, and hung it up as she removed her hat and gloves. She laid them on a console table, and looked around curiously for any sign of Rhett. Seeing none, she peered at her reflection in the mirror over the table, smoothing down a few stray strands; she wondered if Rhett would think her old-looking now that her hair was graying.

"Please follow me," Joseph requested.

He led Scarlett up the stairs into a large sitting room with a view of the harbor. Reclining in a chaise in front of the fireplace, with his back to the door, was Rhett. The soft swish of her skirt, the faint smell of her cologne whispered her arrival. "What took you so long, Scarlett? I've been waiting for you."

Scarlett walked around the chaise to face him and took in the sight. Yes, he was old, his hair totally white and thinning on top, but he also appeared to be quite ill. His eyes were sunken, the whites looked slightly yellow. He had lost a considerable amount of weight; his arms were like match sticks, his hands bony. He appeared to be wasting away, his flesh loose and waxy-looking under the tan of his normal skin tone, yet his legs were swollen and his belly protuberant. Her face must have registered the shock of seeing him so. He looked up at her and spoke flatly, "I'm dying."

Scarlett bent over and embraced him; she could feel his bones under the fabric of his dressing gown. "You should have wired me sooner," she said softly, "If I had known, I would have come to you."

"No. No one needed to see me like this. Please sit." He gestured for her to sit in the chair opposite him. "I asked you to come because, while I am still capable of attending to my own affairs, I want to discuss the disposition of my estate with you. Legally, you are still my wife. The papers are here: a copy of my will, bank statements, stock and bond certificates." He indicated two folders on the table next to him; her name was written on the cover of the uppermost folder. "I didn't want any hard feelings or legal action after my death contesting the terms of the will."

"I would never..." she began to protest, but he silenced her with a gesture.

"I need to tell you this, it is our last link. I'm leaving you one third of my assets to be shared with your children. It's all spelled out. My sister and my brother's family will receive the other two-thirds of the estate, along with some bequests for charity. Unless, of course, you object." He looked at her in a way that challenged her to protest.

"You have always been more than generous with me, Rhett. How could I object?" she conceded gracefully.

"Very well, you can review the details later, if you wish. Now, there is one other issue. As I'm sure you know I want to be laid to rest in Atlanta, next to Bonnie. I've worked out all the details with a local undertaker for shipment of my remains. The instructions are in the second folder. You will be responsible for arranging some of the final details in Atlanta. Are you willing to do this for me?"

"Of course." Scarlett looked at Rhett, her face filled with concern. He looked so tired, as if this had taken the last ounce of his energy.

"I don't need your pity, Scarlett." He spoke harshly, his black eyes hard.

"Nor do you have it. Don't be so quick to judge me, Rhett Butler." She bristled in anticipation of more unpleasantness. Whenever they were together, it seemed they would always argue.

He glared at her. "My sister tells me I have become a bitter, angry old man. I suppose you share that opinion."

Rosemary had been staying with Rhett until mid-November. She had reached the end of her tether with his biting remarks and angry tirades. Even though she knew his illness caused this change in his personality, it did not make it any easier to bear. She had initially suggested that if he felt it necessary to subject anyone to this barrage of negativity, he should contact his estranged wife, thinking it would serve Scarlett right. Rosemary returned to her family in North Carolina, realizing upon her departure that she probably would never see her brother again. While this saddened her, she felt enormous relief as her train pulled out of the Charleston station. Despite the distance, they maintained a correspondence and Rosemary's friend, Sally Brewton, was checking up on Rhett on a weekly basis for her.

"I'll wait and come to my own conclusions, thank you." Then her tone softened, Scarlett slid forward to the edge of her chair, and gently took his hand, "Tell me what happened to you."

He leaned his head against the back of the chaise and stared at the ceiling. "La fée verte, the green fairy. My doctors say it was the drink. My liver is failing and there is nothing that can be done."

"Green fairy? What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"Absinthe, the drink of artists and poets. Drinking it is a very Parisian habit, and I embraced it. It possessed me. It's called the green fairy because of the color of the liquor and the effect it has on the mind. Did you know that your eyes are much the same color? I would envision you in my drunkenness, the green-eyed fairy, possessing me, destroying me."

She was taken aback by this revelation, and abruptly let go of his hand. Not sure how he meant it or how to respond, she shifted in her chair and attempted to redirect the conversation. "Have you much pain?" she asked quietly.

"At times. This has been a good day, an opportune time for your arrival, actually." He sighed heavily, "Although I did expect you last week. How long were you planning to stay?"

"Well, I thought I would see my sister while I was here. Since I didn't know what to expect, I wasn't sure." She had a blank expression on her face, and her mind was reeling from the impact of his appearance and illness.

"Stay with me, Scarlett." It sounded more like a demand than a request.

Scarlett's mouth dropped open. "You want me to stay with you? Have you taken leave of your senses?" she blurted impulsively.

"I will be frank--I don't want to die alone. I would like you to stay with me to the end." He was still staring at the ceiling, his voice emotionless.

His request stunned her. "If this is what you want, I'll stay. But, Rhett, why me? Why now, after all these years?"

"You are my wife, are you not?" He asked testily. "Since you refused to divorce me, I am asking you to behave as a wife would, to care for her dying husband."

"Me, your wife?" She was incredulous. "This is like a bad joke. Or are you indulging in your fondness for lost causes once they are really lost?"

"No, Scarlett, claiming to be married for the last twenty-seven years, that was the bad joke." He was starting to sound more irritated. "Besides, if I thought this was truly a lost cause, I wouldn't have asked you to come here."

"In that case, I'll ask again, why me? Where is your Frenchwoman?" Scarlett nearly choked on the last word.

"You ask too damn many questions," he snapped. "Give me your answer!"

"Despite everything we've been through, I still care about you." She spoke so quietly, she was almost whispering.

He lifted his head and searched her face, "Does that mean you'll stay?"

She nodded slowly, "Yes," she replied.

He let out a soft sigh of relief. "Good." He leaned back into the chaise again, and closed his eyes. "You should know what to expect. My doctor will be here tomorrow, he can give you details. He tells me that as I fail, I may lose clarity of mind, perhaps become agitated. At that point, he will begin dosing me heavily with laudanum and morphine, hastening the end." He was silent for a moment, then sat up and slid his legs off the chaise. "I'd like to go back to bed. Help me up, Scarlett."

Rhett grabbed for a cane next to the chaise with his right hand. He asked Scarlett to take his left arm. She supported him on the left while he pulled himself upright, groaning with the effort. Scarlett was struck by the magnitude of his physical change. He was stooped, not as tall as he had been, and quite frail. He leaned heavily on the cane, moving stiffly with a distinct limp, slowly making progress toward the bedroom.

Surprised by his infirmity, she asked, "How did you injure your left leg?"

"I had an apoplectic stroke ten years ago leaving my left side weaker than the right," he said through clenched jaw, his body tense from the effort of walking.

"Sounds like you hit a rough patch," she said.

"It was more like a rough decade," he replied, grimacing.

Scarlett guided him toward the bed and helped him out of his dressing gown. As he settled into it, she plumped up the pillows, then, pulled the covers up around him. "If you don't need anything else, I will take my leave to unpack."

Alone in her room, Scarlett pondered all that she had learned during this encounter. Rhett was, by all appearances, just as his sister described him, bitter and angry, a broken man. Did Céline Durocher, his French mistress, have anything to do with this, she wondered. Or had life dealt him such grievous blows that he escaped by drinking, much as he had during those awful months in 1873 after Bonnie died? She shuddered to remember that time in their marriage, when they both found solace in the bottom of a brandy bottle rather than in each others arms. While Scarlett had pulled herself out of it with the help of her family, it looked as though Rhett had thoroughly ruined himself. In a small way, he was offering her a final chance to prove her mettle as his wife. It was a challenge she embraced because it took twenty-seven years for this opportunity to arise.

**Many thanks to all of you who have left reviews. Your feedback has encouraged me to polish this up and upload!**


	4. Chapter 4

**The usual disclaimer applies, _Gone with the Wind_ and all its characters belong to Margaret Mitchell and her heirs, I own nothing.**

Dr. Magruder completed his examination and exited Rhett's bedroom, his black leather medical bag in hand. Scarlett waited in the sitting room, and rose to speak with him as soon as he appeared. The doctor eyed her with detached interest over his pince-nez, "So you are Mrs. Butler. You haven't been here before."

"No, I haven't, my husband and I have been estranged for many years." Scarlett decided to be direct with the physician, rather than mince words. "He sent for me last week but did not explain himself. I understand his illness is grave."

"Yes, very," he said. "He will die soon, but I can't say when. He has good days and bad days."

She nodded. "What is this illness?"

"At the time he suffered cerebral apoplexy, he was hospitalized in London. During that period he contracted an infection of the liver, probably hepatitis, which, coupled with alcohol consumption, has led to atrophy of that organ. In the usual course of an illness such as this there is bruising and bleeding, fluid builds up causing the bloated belly and dropsy of the lower part of the body. The impaired circulation can lead to failure of the kidneys as well as the liver. The build up of fluid in the abdomen makes breathing difficult. As the liver is unable to purify the blood, toxins build up in the blood stream and jaundice becomes pronounced, causing a yellow or orange discoloration of the skin, the circulating toxins also cause intense itching of the skin, irritability and sleepiness, and lastly delirium and dementia. It is your husband's wish to be spared this, so we agreed upon the heavy dose of laudanum and morphine. He tells me that you will stay with him. He trusts you to know when the time is right. Do you understand this? Can you accept this responsibility?"

"Yes, doctor, it is my wish to be of any assistance needed. Years ago, during the war, I nursed wounded soldiers in Atlanta. I believe I can help." Scarlett's air of confidence reassured the doctor that she would use good judgment in caring for his patient.

"Good. So far there have been no deficiencies in his care. He is doing as well as can be expected. For the most part he is comfortable, clean and in reasonable spirits." Dr. Magruder then opened his bag and pulled out two bottles of medicine which he handed to Joseph, as he prepared to leave.

"Thank you, doctor," Scarlett said. What a bleak picture, she thought as she walked into Rhett's bedroom and gave him a bright smile. "The doctor says you're doing well."

"Liar," Rhett scowled back at her. "Let's get one thing straight; I'm sick, not stupid. Dispense with the false cheer."

Scarlett arched an eyebrow, and spoke evenly. "I can appreciate your sister's assessment of your emotional state. Perhaps if you wish me to remain here with you, we should attempt to be civil with one another."

"Hmmph," Rhett grunted his grudging agreement.

Scarlett scanned the room for a plate or tray, "Have you had breakfast?"

As she spoke Joseph entered the room carrying Rhett's food. "Doctor say you can eat now, Captain Butler."

"Thank you, Joseph. I'll take that." Scarlett took the tray and placed it on Rhett's lap and eyed the meager meal it contained, oatmeal gruel with milk and what smelled like chamomile tea. "Is this all you eat?"

"Food sickens me," he said, pushing the tray away.

"Maybe a little ginger would help. It's good for stomach upset." She spoke with brisk efficiency. "I'll check with your cook and see if there is any in the kitchen."

Rhett grabbed Scarlett's wrist before she could move toward the door. "Don't start trying to manage my life. You are not the mistress of this household."

"I thought you wanted me to behave as a proper wife would. I'm only trying to help you," she said as she jerked her hand away, annoyed. Her initial surge of anger gave way to shock when she realized how weak he was. At one time it would have been impossible for her to break out of Rhett's grip.

"I want you to sit, and talk to me," he said pointing to the chair next to the bed. "Tell me about what you've been doing with your horses or about your grandchildren, anything. Just talk."

"All right, now I know what you want." Scarlett eyed the tray he'd pushed aside. "I would like you to eat something. If I talk, will you eat?"

"What?" he snapped, incredulous.

Scarlett remained firm. "It's a simple request."

Joseph had come back into the room bearing a small tray containing medicine: two pills and a bottle of tonic. He listened to Scarlett attempting to bargain with Rhett and smiled, shaking his head. "Captain Butler, I brung your medicine. Doctor say you gotta eat something 'fore you take it, you know that."

"Fine," he muttered in disgust. He pulled the tray back into his lap, picked up the spoon and took a few bites of the gruel, before dropping the spoon back on the tray. He looked up at Joseph and Scarlett, both watching him, "Happy now?"

"It's a start," Scarlett said, as Joseph placed the pills in Rhett's hand. She then quietly slipped out of the room.

When Scarlett returned she was carrying a small case in which she kept her collection of cabinet cards. She sat down in the chair next to the bed, and smiled at Rhett, "If you are really interested in my grandchildren, I'll show you some pictures. I don't know if I'm prouder of my grandchildren or my horses!" She then began pulling out pictures. "Here are Wade's four children: Melanie is ten, Annabelle is eight and a half, Caroline is seven and Teddy is three and a half. Three angelic little girls, and then there is Teddy, a little devil! I love them all. I'm thinking of buying another house in Atlanta because I can't get enough of them and I know Wade's wife would rather not have me as a guest quite as often as I turn up."

"I'm glad to hear that you've finally learned to appreciate children," he observed dryly.

Scarlett shot him a look of annoyance, "Is this your idea of being civil with one another?"

Rhett shrugged. "Who is this?" he asked pointing to the picture of a solemn-faced girl. "She looks a little like Melanie Wilkes."

"That's Wade's oldest child, my Melanie. You see, she has the Hamilton eyes, big, round and brown. She is prettier than Melly was, but just as special. She loves the stables, and rides well. She's a natural. All of the children ride, except for Teddy, he's too young. Wade, Alicia and I agreed not to start riding lessons before age four because of..." Scarlett's voice trailed off and she took a sidelong glance at Rhett. His face registered nothing.

She started pulling out all the pictures in the case--baby pictures, a picture of Ella and her husband at their wedding, pictures of children on horseback under the big Butler-Tarleton Stables arch.

Rhett pointed to Ella's wedding picture, "I never got an invitation."

"For what it's worth I wasn't there either," Scarlett said, frowning, her displeasure evident. "Ella and John eloped."

What Scarlett failed to mention was her strident opposition to the match. She had met John Connelly, a gifted painter, in Savannah through her O'Hara kin. The O'Hara cousins were trying to help the young man, newly arrived in America, find work. John had come to Savannah from Ireland via Paris where he had hoped to attend the École des Beaux-Arts. After two years of apprenticeship under an established painter with ties to the Académie, he ran out of money. John decided to immigrate to America instead of pursuing further education. Scarlett commissioned him to paint four portraits for her.

John went on to teach painting to young ladies, and that was how he met Ella. Painting had become her passion and she continued her art studies while attending St. Vincent's Academy in Savannah. Scarlett was unaware of the blossoming romance until it was too late. She hectored Ella mercilessly to give up John Connelly because she did not think he was a worthy beau; he was ten years her senior and an artist. How could he support a wife? Ella would not be moved by her mother's arguments. She loved John; he made her feel special.

After Ella's graduation, John proposed to her. He had accepted a position teaching in New York City, and did not want to leave Savannah without her. An ambitious young man, he made the most of his opportunities and eventually obtained his current position at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. If Scarlett hadn't been so opposed to the match, she might have been able to admire his gumption.

"He was quite impressed with the little paintings you gave Ella when she was young," Scarlett remarked crisply.

"Yes, I believe he is an admirer of the Impressionists." Rhett looked up from the picture and turned to Scarlett, "Did they ever tell you, I saw them in New York two years after they married? They were attending Paul Durand-Ruel's National Academy of Design show."

"No, Ella never mentioned that." Scarlett stared hard at Rhett. "You mean in 1886, the spring of 1886, after the Kentucky Derby?"

"That's exactly right Scarlett, after the Kentucky Derby, in May of 1886." He matched her stare, as he emphasized the date.

Rather than rise to the bait, Scarlett scowled darkly and continued her narrative. "These are her two children: Michael is twelve and Cathleen is nine. I don't see them as much as I'd like. I get to New York every spring for a visit, after the running of the Belmont Stakes. They spend a month in the summer at Tara."

"I know Ella's children well. I used to visit them twice a year, before I became too sick to travel." He smiled fondly at the photographic images. "I haven't seen them in over a year, how are they?"

Scarlett stared at him, dumbfounded, her voice rising with emotion, "My grandchildren, you visited _my_ grandchildren!"

"Ella is my stepdaughter," Rhett remarked blandly, unfazed by her outburst. "She and her family accept me, certainly with more grace than you."

"She never told me anything about this!" Scarlett sputtered with indignation.

"Nor should she have, it doesn't concern you. However, I am amazed the children never said anything to you. They speak frankly and do not dissemble."

Scarlett was still trying to absorb this information--Rhett had a relationship with Ella's children. And Ella had kept this fact from her for how many years?

"What's this last picture here? You haven't opened it. Saving the best for last?" He reached for the last frame in the case, which looked older and more worn than the rest.

Scarlett started to say no, but he caught her off-guard. She held her breath as he opened it. There was the picture that the young Irish artist had used to paint a portrait of Rhett and Bonnie so many years ago. It had been taken in Charleston during the late spring of 1871, after Rhett left Atlanta with their daughter. Rhett was sitting on a tufted velvet bench holding Bonnie at the waist; Bonnie was standing on the bench with her little hand on his shoulder. Rhett wore the expression of a proud father, while Bonnie grinned like an imp. Something about this picture captured Bonnie's spirit well. It was one of Scarlett's favorites and never failed to make her smile.

"I always carry this one with me." Their eyes met. Seeing the picture and the look on Rhett's face took Scarlett back twenty-five years to the night she had given him the painting made from this picture.

#

Spring, 1875

Rhett signed the bill of sale for their Atlanta mansion in the autumn of 1874. At the time, he told Scarlett the house had been built for her and she could use the proceeds from the sale as she saw fit. Most of the money went toward the construction of her own home at Tara. Scarlett called the house Blue Skies because to her the sky over Tara was always the most beautiful azure blue. It was also a symbolic name, hopefully representing a break from her stormy past. Scarlett wanted a new business challenge to complete her transition. In due time, the idea of a horse breeding business began to appeal to her and seemed the ideal investment for the remainder of the money from the sale of the Peachtree Street mansion. In the spring of 1875, Rhett came to Tara to sign the papers forming the Butler-Tarleton Limited Partnership.

Beatrice Tarleton was true to her word; she did speak to Scarlett about buying some horses. At first, Scarlett refused to consider getting involved in the horse breeding business because she knew nothing about it; moreover, it did not interest her. Will asked her how much she knew about lumber before she bought her first mill. Scarlett scowled, said she recognized an opportunity to make a lot of money when she saw it, and didn't see how horses could be worth as much as lumber. However, she was interested in buying a horse for herself and one for Wade. Ella refused to learn to ride; the memory of Bonnie's death still frightened her. Beatrice used this opportunity to take Scarlett horse shopping in the surrounding Georgia counties. At first Scarlett resisted, but eventually Beatrice started to wear her down. When Scarlett returned to Tara, practically giddy with excitement about the bloodlines of the horses she had purchased, Will knew she was hooked.

Jim and Beatrice Tarleton and Scarlett traveled to Atlanta and had a member of Henry Hamilton's law firm draw up papers of incorporation. Henry pointed out that Scarlett was still legally a married woman, and would need Rhett's signature on the papers. He recommended the Tarletons and Scarlett prepare the document and send it to Rhett's lawyers in Charleston. Scarlett was shocked when, instead of returning the signed contract via mail, Rhett traveled to Georgia and met with the principals at Scarlett's new home. The situation was initially rather awkward, but Beatrice's earthy, good humor and impressive knowledge of horses helped smooth things over, and the foursome forged a business plan that carried Butler-Tarleton Stables for the next eleven years.

The night the papers were signed, the Butlers and Tarletons dined together to celebrate. After Jim and Beatrice went home, Scarlett was at last alone with her husband. An uncomfortable silence fell between them. There was so much she wanted to say, but he maintained an aloof bearing, and would not be drawn into conversation. Finally, Scarlett suggested they retire.

She lit a lamp and led the way up the stairs to the bedrooms. On the second floor landing, across from Scarlett's bedroom, hung three oil portraits of her children. In the dim light, Rhett could just about make out the faces of the three children. He was most surprised to see the portrait of Bonnie. Scarlett moved swiftly past the paintings without a thought to their impact on Rhett, and led the way to the second bedroom on the left. She opened the door, placed the lamp on the bedside table and wished Rhett a good night.

Though it was dark, she found her way easily to her own room. Once inside she sank into an overstuffed chair and stared into the darkness, her mind in turmoil, knowing she would never be able to sleep as long as Rhett lay on the other side of the wall separating their two rooms. She remembered the wild thrill of their last night together. Her heart beat madly when he touched her in the most casual way during the course of the evening. Memories washed over her in the darkness and an intense longing to be in his arms, to feel his lips on hers, filled her. If only he would let her into his heart again.

When she heard footsteps in the hallway, she sprang to the door. Upon opening it, she saw Rhett standing there looking at the portrait of Bonnie.

"It's quite a nice likeness, don't you think?" Scarlett asked.

He didn't turn to face her, but answered, "Indeed, quite nice. Where did you get this?"

"I commissioned it in Savannah. A young Irishman, who learned his craft in Paris, painted it for me. You must remember the photograph he used to create this painting."

"Yes, very well." He turned and faced Scarlett. "Do you have any brandy in the house? I feel the need for a nightcap. Perhaps you would like to join me."

Scarlett led the way to the dining room and found the silver tray on the sideboard with the cut crystal decanter containing a small amount of brandy. She picked up the tray and told Rhett they should go out to the front porch where they might enjoy the night breeze. Once on the porch, Rhett poured two generous glasses of brandy.

After pouring, he held up the decanter, checking it in the dim light to verify that it was nearly empty. "You've run out Scarlett, do you have more?"

"No," she replied, "I don't keep it for myself. It's only for guests."

"I see," he remarked. "So you'll not be joining me?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I have a weakness." Though she was sorely tempted, she knew she had to be strong and resist the urge. She added, "Feel free to finish what's there."

Rhett looked at her sharply, then, shrugged.

Scarlett took a seat deep in the shadows of the porch and watched as Rhett drank the first brandy, then pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. Watching him perform these simple acts, so familiar to her, gave her great pleasure. She missed him more than words could say.

Then she spoke up, "I have something for you."

She disappeared into the house, and reemerged shortly, carrying a large parcel wrapped in brown paper.

"I didn't know when I would see you again, to give this to you," she said as she pushed the parcel toward him.

"Let's go inside. It's too dark out here to see," he suggested.

In the parlor, Scarlett lit two lamps and watched as Rhett pulled the paper off the portrait. He studied it carefully, not speaking. Finally Scarlett put her hand on his forearm. When he turned to look at her, she thought he had tears shining in his eyes, but she couldn't be certain.

"Do you like it?" she asked softly, yet eagerly.

"My God, it's beautiful," he gasped. "I scarcely know what to say."

Scarlett laughed lightly, "Thank you is usually considered appropriate when one appreciates a gift."

"Of course, thank you, my dear. I shall treasure it."

Then Scarlett made her error. Thinking she had caught him in a moment of vulnerability, she proclaimed her love and reached to embrace him.

He looked at her quizzically, holding her at arms length. "I appreciate the gift, but nothing has changed between us. In fact, I had intended to discuss the possibility of a divorce with you."

Her hand flew up to her mouth and she let out a sharp cry of surprise.

"A separation then? Surely you didn't think I wanted to reconcile?" His voice was smooth, betraying no emotion.

"No, of course not. It's just that... well, we just signed those incorporation papers because..." she shook her head, perplexed. I am a fool, she thought. "I told you many times before, no divorce, ever."

"I hoped you'd changed your mind." He observed her agitation dispassionately.

"No!" She cried sharply, "I would never be able to hold my head up again. My children..."

"That's something else I wanted to discuss with you. I would like to be a part of the children's lives, but my visiting here regularly is out of the question. Why don't you send them to school in Charleston? I can recommend some good schools; you can visit them, select one for each child. Out here in the country, your choices for their education are rather limited, and Wade does want to go to university."

Scarlett was still in shock over Rhett's request for a divorce or separation. She could only mumble her assent to his suggestion about the children's schools.

He eyed her speculatively. Seeing her distress, he thought better of continuing the discussion. "I think I'll retire now. Thank you again for the present. Good night." Rhett picked up the painting and went upstairs to his room.

Scarlett went out to the porch in search of the remaining brandy. Greedily, she finished what was on hand and cursed herself for not replenishing the supply. "Tomorrow," she thought, "I'm going to buy some more in Jonesboro because if Rhett stays here another night, I'm going to want to drown in it."

#

She gathered up the pictures, put them back in the case and snapped it shut. "Well, enough of this." Rhett lay against the pillows with his eyes closed. She touched his arm lightly. "You rest. I'll come back later." Quietly she exited the room.

Back in her own room, she put the photo case away and went out to the piazza. The salty tang made the breeze smell good. Discovering Rhett's hidden relationship with Ella and her family shocked Scarlett. She could tell from the look on his face that he loved Ella's children as though they were his own grandchildren. Suddenly, she did feel pity for Rhett. While he certainly had the upper hand in their relationship, he had lost so much in the bargain. Leaving the country made it impossible for him to enjoy frequent visits with Ella's children, and he wasn't acquainted with Wade's children at all. He had sacrificed any potential to develop or deepen loving bonds with these children just to avoid having anything to do with her.

Scarlett began to think of the Christmas holiday. Clearly she wouldn't be back in Georgia in time to celebrate with her family, so she'd have to let them know exactly what was going on. She wrote her first letter to Wade, describing his stepfather's condition, as well as the will and burial plans. The next letter was for Suellen. Finally, she wrote one to Ella, who loved her stepfather dearly. She wondered if Ella knew how sick Rhett was at the time she had last seen him. These sad tidings over the holidays would grieve her.

**Many thanks to all of you who have left such warm words of encouragement. I appreciate your feedback. Kendra, big time weeper at the end.**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Gone with the Wind_ and all its characters are the property of Margaret Mitchell and her heirs. I own nothing.**

On Wednesday, Dr. Magruder stopped in the sitting room to say hello to Scarlett and give her an update. "Captain Butler is holding his own. I performed a procedure to drain some of the fluid from his abdomen, thereby relieving pressure on the internal organs. It seems you've helped boost his spirits these last few days."

Scarlett murmured thanks, somewhat surprised by the doctor's words regarding her effect on Rhett's spirits. She asked, "Dr. Magruder, do you think it would be prudent to get an invalid's chair for Rhett, so he could go out onto the piazza and take the air? Or is he too weak?"

"I don't think a little fresh air would hurt. Go ahead and try. You can get a chair from this surgical supply company." He wrote the address on a piece of paper he pulled from his bag and gave it to Scarlett. "You must use good judgment, and stay out of the damp. But some of these sunny afternoons would be a perfect time to spend a few minutes out of doors, a good idea, Mrs. Butler." Scarlett walked him downstairs where he retrieved his hat and coat. "I'll see you on Friday." With a tip of the hat, he left.

When Scarlett returned upstairs to Rhett's sitting room, she found him settling into the chaise. Joseph was arranging pillows behind his back. "Dr. Magruder is pleased with how well you are doing," she said pleasantly.

Rhett frowned. "Dr. Magruder is pleased I'm not dead yet. His fee will be larger." Rhett's moodiness seemed to have a darker edge today.

"How morbid!" Standing with arms folded across her chest, as if to protect herself from Rhett's cynicism, Scarlett gave him a cool look, shaking her head in consternation. "He says you're holding your own. I'd say that's a positive assessment."

"Whatever you say. Come sit here while I eat a little soup." Rhett gestured toward a chair near the fireplace. "Joseph insists I take my meager meal in here, rather than in my bed." Bowing his head slightly, Joseph gave his employer a smug smile.

"I could have my dinner here as well." She looked up at the valet, and asked, "Joseph, could you send up a tray for me, too?"

"As you wish, Missus." He left the room quietly.

Leaning back into the pillows with a sigh, Rhett told her, "Dr. Magruder withdrew some fluid from my belly today. It takes the pressure off my stomach and improves my appetite a little."

"Is it painful?" Scarlett asked.

"Not really, he numbs the skin before he makes the cut." As Rhett spoke, Scarlett winced at the thought.

In reality, while not painful, the procedure was far from comfortable. Rhett dreaded the days when Dr. Magruder appeared with the necessary equipment to perform it. After determining the level of the fluid, the doctor would choose a site along the midline, below the umbilicus to insert the trocar, a medical instrument having a round needle with a triangular cutting point enclosed within a cannula. Once the site was determined and the area cleansed, the doctor used ethyl chloride spray to freeze the skin. Next he made a small incision with a scalpel and inserted the trocar. When the fluid began to flow he collected it in a large bowl, carefully measuring the output, and checking the character of the fluid for signs of infection. The rapid volume depletion left Rhett feeling exhausted when it was over. Dr. Magruder stayed for a half hour continuing to monitor him for bleeding or other complications, while Rhett drifted into a light sleep. In the aftermath of the procedure, his belly cramped painfully as he first sat up and then stood to shuffle, with Joseph's assistance, to the sitting room.

"Maybe you should rest before eating," she suggested.

"All I do is rest," he muttered. "What have you been up to this morning?"

"Not much, just knitting." Dr. Magruder had been with Rhett nearly two hours, so Scarlett occupied herself with her needlework in the sitting room.

"Scarlett Butler, knitting? That sounds so pleasantly domestic, and quite unlike you." His words crackled with sarcasm.

Scarlett frowned, and shook her head, as if to shake off the flash of anger within her. "I am knitting a pair of mittens for Michael. It was to be a Christmas present, but I don't think I'm going to be finished in time."

Rhett closed his eyes, "What a tender grandmother you are, my dear."

"I try," she replied tartly. Tucking her legs up under her, half facing Rhett and half facing the fire, Scarlett removed her project from a canvas bag sitting on the floor. She pulled her spectacles from the bag, put them on, and began knitting the mitten again, using gray wool and working a stripe pattern in blue.

Rhett opened his eyes and watched with curiosity as she quickly moved the needles and passed the different colored strands of yarn. He remembered Scarlett doing such needlework during the war, but not after. "Do you really think he'll wear those?" He asked more to see her reaction than for any desire to know the answer. After the belly tap he was feeling rancorous and, unfortunately, he had Scarlett in his sights.

Scarlett stiffened. "It gets very cold and snowy in New York during the winter. I hope these mittens will remind him of the warmth of my love." Her eyes narrowed and she looked at Rhett, "Some people appreciate the fact that I love them."

He laughed softly. "Like Dan Wilson, I suppose."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Scarlett's head jerked up and she glared at Rhett.

"My dear wife," he addressed her in that silky, sarcastic way of his, "you didn't think I was unaware of your dalliance with Mr. Wilson, did you?"

"Dan Wilson and I worked together. There was nothing untoward in our relationship," she insisted.

"He lived in your house for a few months," Rhett countered.

"What if he did? His own quarters were under construction," Scarlett replied hotly.

Shaking his head, Rhett reproved her, "A woman alone with a man in her house--well, you know how people like to talk."

"I stayed at the big house with Will and Suellen during that time." Scarlett's eyes narrowed with suspicion as she spat back at him, "And just who were you talking to? Or were you eavesdropping?"

"Does it matter?" He had thrown the gauntlet and the duel was on.

"What matters to me is how you managed to form the impression that there was a romance between Dan and myself. We were professionally involved, period. Is that so hard to believe?" Scarlett's eyes flashed with anger. "Besides, you have a lot of nerve throwing that in my face at this late date, after I discovered the true nature of your relationship with Mademoiselle Durocher the night of the Jockey Club Ball in '86, or," she hissed, "had you forgotten?"

"What happens behind closed doors is one thing; being seen by grooms and stable boys in a compromising position, is quite another." He was going for the coup de grâce. "Was that my mistake with you, Scarlett? If I had expressed my coarse ardors in a barnyard, would that have made them more satisfactory in your eyes?"

"You are a cad!" Scarlett's whole being throbbed with rage. "How dare you! How dare you make such accusations!" She choked out the words. "The stable boy saw nothing improper, it was a scurrilous lie."

"Frankly, Scarlett, I think you are lying," he said with cool assurance, no room for reasonable doubt in his mind. "It wasn't a stable boy who told me this."

"Really, so who exactly were you talking to?" Scarlett demanded furiously.

"I met a gentleman at the Galt House, Nathaniel Dedham, who seemed to know a great deal about you and Wilson." Rhett appeared to be taking malicious delight in revealing this.

"God's nightgown!" she shouted. "Dedham is a snake! I outbid him for a colt at the Belle Meade yearling auction, the horse went on to have a championship season, and he vowed he'd make me regret it!"

"Please! Do you really expect me to believe that?" Rhett asked, incredulous.

"Yes, I do! How can I prove to you the truth of my words?" Scarlett went on in a hot rush. "Besides, I offered to sign the divorce papers after I saw you that night with Mademoiselle Durocher. You did not follow through for whatever reason."

"Céline and I had no desire to marry," he replied coldly. "It wasn't necessary--for us, that is. You, well, I can't speak to that."

"Yes, I know all about your relationship with that trollop!" Scarlett seethed.

"You know nothing!" Rhett shot back emphatically. "Anyway, it's none of your business. Didn't you agree to a divorce that night because you and Wilson were lovers, and wished to marry?"

"What!? No, never! You know what led me to ask for a divorce, yet you accuse _me_ of adultery, and then have the nerve to tell me your intimacy with the Frenchwoman is none of my business?" Out of anger and frustration, she slammed her fist on the arm of the chair. "You miserable hypocrite!"

"That's right; my private life is none of your business. I never made any bones about our marriage being over. You refused to end it cleanly and move on. We were estranged. I had every right, especially since I was barred from enjoying my conjugal rights while we were still living together. So you tell me who the hypocrite is."

"So why didn't you divorce me?" she cried in vexation.

He glared at her. "Maybe it was my turn to thwart your plans!"

Scarlett had assumed a rigid position in the chair, her feet on the floor, and looked as though she was ready to spring at him. "The devil take you, Rhett Butler!"

"In due time, my dear."

As Joseph entered with the dinner tray, Scarlett rose and threw down her knitting, long forgotten during the argument that had raged. "I've lost my appetite!" she declared before stalking off.

Rhett heard Scarlett's rapid footsteps as she fled the room, then, clattered down the stairs. After a few minutes, the front door slammed shut. His belly cramped again, and he groaned from the discomfort.

Scenes from the past filled his mind. Eyes closed, he envisioned a café in Paris, drinking with Manet and Degas, and meeting Céline for the first time. He remembered well lying naked, stretched across Céline's bed, reclining against the many silk-covered pillows, awaiting her caresses.

**A/N - The description of the belly tap procedure (paracentesis) was adapted from **_**Postgraduate Medicine: Prevention and Treatment of Disease**_**, Augustus Caillé, 1918. Other works consulted include "Historical Notes on Ascites in Cirrhosis" by Vicente Arroyo and Ramon Bataller in **_**Ascites in Renal Dysfunction and Liver Disease**_**, eds. Arroyo, Gives et al., **_**Golden Rules of Diagnosis and Treatment of Diseases**_**, Henry Cables, 1911, and the granddaddy of them all, **_**The Principles and Practice of Medicine**_**, ****William Osler and Thomas McCrae, first published in 1892. Any reference in this story to medical practice in the late 19****th**** century comes from one of these sources.**


	6. Chapter 6

**The usual disclaimer applies, _Gone with the Wind _and all its characters belong to Margaret Mitchell and her heirs, I own nothing.**

London & Paris, 1874

Rhett traveled to London in the spring of 1874 at his mother's insistence. She thought a change of scene would be a welcome distraction as the first anniversary of Bonnie's death approached. The last year had been lost in a drunken haze, and Rhett realized he needed to clear his head. He went willingly. Once in London, he came into contact with a few fellow blockade runners who had remained abroad after the war. These expatriates enjoyed a life of gracious refinement and elegance, some in London, some in Liverpool, and what he saw appealed to Rhett. Thinking he would like to stay and make London his home, he purchased a fine, but small residence in the Mayfair district. Then he went to work reestablishing the network of business contacts he made during the war in order to set up an import-export business specializing in luxury items. This would allow him to split his time between the States and Britain.

Rhett visited the Durand-Ruel Gallery on New Bond Street in London looking for art work to purchase. At the gallery he found a very fine Whistler, _Symphony in Gray and Green: The Ocean_, and a painting by Manet, _The Battle of the Kearsarge and the Alabama, _in the gallery's collection catalogue. In order to purchase the Manet, he had to go to Paris, and there he met Paul Durand-Ruel, art dealer and gallery owner, who in turn introduced him to the artist, Edouard Manet.

Durand-Ruel was a short, dapper man who possessed a zealous appreciation for the works of his artists and so was their tireless advocate. Always on the lookout for potential collectors, he decided Rhett would be an ideal patron—a self-made millionaire, unaligned with the aristocracy, who appreciated the work of avant-garde artists. In the wake of rejections by the jury at the annual Salon, this group of independent painters, derisively called impressionists by critics, decided to mount their first exhibition at the former studio of Nadar, the photographer, on the Boulevard des Capucines. Durand-Ruel insisted that Rhett attend. He was determined to make him a true believer in the genius of the Impressionists. Rhett was more interested in first acquiring the Manet painting.

Rhett paid a call on Manet at his _atelier _in the Rue de St. Petersbourg near the Gare St. Lazare. Genial, fashionably dressed and quick-witted, Manet was pleased to make the acquaintance of a wealthy American who seemed to appreciate his work. He showed Rhett many of his finest paintings which he stored in his studio due to lack of interest on the part of buyers. Rhett was greatly impressed by the flawless nude _Olympia, _but Manet refused to sell it to him.

"Some day, she will hang in the Louvre," Manet said in a reverential tone. "My _Olympia_ will never leave France." Manet craved acceptance by the French art establishment more than commercial success. A man of means, he did not need to sell his work in order to support himself.

Rhett noticed a work in progress on the artist's easel and a series of paintings of the same model, which intrigued him. He asked Manet who the woman was.

"Ah, I see you admire my future sister-in-law, Monsieur Butler." Manet's eyes shone with emotion, and he smiled ruefully. "Her name is Berthe Morisot."

"Your future sister-in-law, perhaps, but I'd hazard a guess that she captured your heart before she became engaged to your brother. Your paintings evince a great deal of feeling for the woman." Rhett eyed Manet, wondering if his brazen assertion offended him.

Manet laughed. "It's no secret that Berthe and I are very fond of each other. I encouraged the match with my brother; otherwise I fear she may never have married."

"She is an attractive woman. I should think she wouldn't lack for suitors," Rhett mused, looking at the painting in progress.

"You are correct, Monsieur, however, she loves someone she cannot have." Manet was no longer smiling.

Rhett laughed a sharp, bitter laugh, "An altogether too common story! Please accept my apologies if you find my interest to be improper."

"No need to apologize, sir. It is said that the artist makes love to his model on the canvas. My feelings for Mademoiselle Morisot are no exception. She is also an artist, a protégé of mine actually. Perhaps you have seen some of her work at Nadar's studio?"

Rhett admitted that he had not gone to the exhibition at Nadar's studio yet, but that Durand-Ruel was not going to let him leave Paris without first seeing it.

Manet murmured his approval of the canny art dealer's plan. "None of my work is on display there. I prefer to submit my paintings to the official Salon, but many of my friends have contributed their paintings to it. Go, you will see the future of art."

Before leaving the studio, Rhett carefully examined once more the paintings of Berthe Morisot. Though he had never met the woman, something about her reminded him of Scarlett. Then, of course, there was Manet's revelation about her private life, loving someone she couldn't have, that was Scarlett to a tee.

Manet quickly grasped that Rhett's interest was more personal than aesthetic. "She resembles someone you know, perhaps?"

"Hmm," his reverie broken, he responded, "yes, an old... friend."

It was now Manet's turn to push the bounds of propriety in order to satisfy his curiosity, "A particularly close one, if I may be so bold?"

"Indeed, my...," Rhett couldn't bring himself to say the word wife, "someone I once loved."

"It seems we have something in common," Manet said darkly, for though he was married, he did truly love Berthe Morisot. Assuming that Rhett meant his was an illicit love, probably a mistress, Manet laughed and let the subject go. Instead, he proposed they go to the Café Guerbois, where Rhett could make the acquaintance of some other artists. Manet always looked out for the interests of the younger men in his circle. Rhett enthusiastically agreed.

Upon arriving at the café, a waiter seated them at a large table in the center of the crowded room. Apparently this was Manet's usual spot to hold court. Here they shared a bottle of wine and chatted amiably.

"Monsieur Butler," Manet asked, "what attracted you to _The Battle of the Kearsarge and the Alabama_?"

"You could call it sentimental interest, of a sort. The _Alabama_ was built by Fraser, Trenholm & Co. of Liverpool and Charleston, South Carolina, my hometown. I knew her captain, Raphael Semmes, well, even made passage from Nassau to Havana on her when my own vessel was in dry dock for repairs. She was one of the finest ships I have ever been aboard, built to James Bulloch's specifications, a marvel of modern naval technology. It was a damn shame they sunk her. I suppose it was big news in Paris."

"Yes, of course." His eyes sparkled as he spoke. "I was informed beforehand that the attack would occur, so I went to Cherbourg. I was on a pilot boat in the harbor watching the battle. Never have I seen anything so exciting."

"You captured it well," Rhett said. "Do you often paint seascapes?"

"Thank you, monsieur. No, not often, but I have painted a few. I, too, almost became a naval officer. My father wanted me to attend the École Navale, but I failed the entrance exam—twice!" Manet laughed, "However, I did get to make a long voyage, as a potential cadet, to Rio de Janeiro. I painted the rinds of some rotten cheeses and taught the rest of the crew how to draw!"

Rhett laughed with Manet, "That must have been quite an accomplishment, teaching sailors to draw!"

As they laughed, they were joined by a sad-eyed man, who looked vaguely familiar to Rhett.

"So Edouard, who is your friend?" The sad-eyed man inclined his head toward Rhett.

"Please, Monsieur Butler, excuse my friend's rudeness. This is Edgar Degas, a fellow artist." Manet winked playfully at Rhett, "We call him the bear because he tends to be a bit grouchy." And then addressing Degas, "Edgar, this is Monsieur Rhett Butler, an American. He just bought one of my paintings."

"Which one?" Degas felt it was beneath his dignity as an artist to curry favor with bourgeois businessmen.

"Edgar has no manners, despite the fact that he was raised properly and educated well." Degas' rudeness was starting to annoy Manet.

"Excuse me." Degas bowed and extended his hand. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Butler."

"The pleasure is mine, Monsieur Degas." Although, given the tenor of the conversation thus far, Rhett wasn't entirely sure.

"Where do you come from in America?" Degas inquired rather curtly.

"The South. Charleston, South Carolina," Rhett replied.

"Yes, yes, I know the South," Degas said.

"Really?" Rhett put down his wine glass and looked more carefully at the sad-eyed painter.

"I have family in New Orleans." Degas gestured to the waiter for a glass and poured himself some wine.

"Have you ever been to New Orleans?" Rhett had the feeling he'd met this man before.

Degas sipped his wine, then, answered, "But of course. My brother and I went in 1872 to visit our uncle, Michel Musson."

The realization hit Rhett. "Yes, the Cotton Exchange on Carondelet, I know it well. I must have seen you there. My business interests took me to New Orleans frequently."

A lively conversation ensued in which Degas delighted in telling Rhett about his impressions of New Orleans, and he offered to show him some of the paintings he had made while there. Gradually, Manet steered the conversation back around to Rhett. Manet was curious to know more about his new patron.

"You speak French..." Manet began, but Degas broke in.

"...Like a Prussian general."

Manet gave Degas a withering look. Then he addressed Rhett, "I was going to say you speak French well. Where did you learn?"

"Like any good southern gentleman, I took French lessons as a school boy in preparation for my Grand Tour. Later, I attended West Point, where mastering the French language was a necessity for a professional soldier."

"West Point, no wonder you speak French like a general. So you must have been an army officer in the war between the states," Degas said.

Rhett laughed, a hearty laugh of genuine amusement, "Hardly! I was expelled from West Point at the beginning of my third year for a youthful prank. I was considered unfit to be either an officer or a gentleman!"

Manet laughed as well. "Did you know that Whistler was also thrown out of West Point? He was a particularly poor student of the sciences. Why he nearly killed himself in the laboratory!"

"That sounds like Whistler," Degas remarked dryly. "He seems to have the same difficulty mixing his colors."

Degas' jibe elicited raucous laughter from Rhett and Manet. When the laughter faded, Degas asked Rhett, "What did you do during the war?"

"I owned four boats and ran the blockade. When the blockade tightened and the port at Wilmington, North Carolina was finally shut down, I engaged in food speculation. I served as an enlisted man in the artillery during the last nine months of the war."

"Food speculation, eh?" Degas tilted his head and looked the American up and down. "My grandfather was a food speculator during the Revolution. He made his fortune that way. However, he was forced to flee Paris for Naples when the Revolutionary Tribunal ordered his arrest." He paused for dramatic effect, then, asked archly, "Is that what brings you to the continent, Monsieur?"

"Southerners did not employ the guillotine, although there were those who thought hanging was too good for me." Rhett smirked. "But no, I was not forced to flee."

"Degas and I were artillerymen during the Franco-Prussian War," Manet said. "We joined the National Guard to defend Paris." He shook his head and added bitterly, "War is a waste!" All three men nodded.

Rhett ordered another bottle of wine, and he and the two artists then spent a pleasurable afternoon drinking and swapping tales. It was the beginning of a long and congenial relationship.

**A/N – Again, I take liberties with actual events. Edouard Manet was the great love of Berthe Morisot's life. They shared a deep and abiding affection. It is not known whether they were lovers, however, Manet painted Morisot eleven times, and some art critics see clues in these pictures that seem to suggest they were. During the summer of 1874 Edouard and Berthe decided that she should marry his brother, Eugène (not in the spring of 1874 as I suggest). **

**Please see my profile page for links to the art works mentioned in this chapter.**

**Also, James Bulloch, mentioned in connection with the **_**Alabama**_** was the Confederate naval agent in Liverpool during the Civil War. He was responsible for organizing the blockade running operation.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**The usual disclaimer applies. **_**Gone with the Wind**_** belongs to Margaret Mitchell and her heirs. I own nothing. Meet the Frenchwoman!**

Paris, 1882, 1885 - Céline

As his part of the Butler-Tarleton business plan, Rhett had promised to look for horses with good bloodlines in England and France. He joined the Jockey Club of London in 1875. When his art business began to keep him in Paris for longer periods of time, he decided to join the Jockey Club of Paris, as well. Dues were steep, but he rationalized it would payoff in the long run. Membership was gained through nomination by two current members. He'd spent enough time at the races at Longchamp to have made the acquaintance of several members and had no difficulty being accepted, even though he was an American. Upon his acceptance, one of the members told Rhett that he was expected to keep a courtesan; everyone did--even avowed homosexuals.

Rhett related this anecdote, with an amused air, one evening while dining with Degas and Manet in the Café de la Paix. Manet, known to be a ladies' man, laughed appreciatively. "My model, Méry Laurent already has her hands full with Mallarmé, the poet, and Dr. Evans, the American dentist, otherwise I would introduce you to her. Just the same, Paris is full of beautiful women; you should have no trouble finding someone."

Yet, it was Degas who said he knew a woman who might be available. Degas was acquainted with many women of the demi-monde, yet he consorted with none. Rhett didn't understand this, but accepted him as he was. He could be companionable and Rhett admired his work. Degas had come to count on Rhett's patronage.

"What do you think, Edouard?" Degas asked, "Would Céline Durocher be interested in our American friend?"

Manet replied, "I certainly think it is worth an introduction."

The next night they went to the Opéra together. During the intermission, over flutes of champagne, Manet pointed her out across the lobby. She was taller than average at five feet eight inches with an elegant, long neck encircled by an opulent diamond choker. Her hair was light brown and her eyes were smoky amber. Rhett was taken by her youth and beauty; she appeared to be no older than twenty-one. She was on the arm of a short, fat man with a Vandyke beard, wearing a monocle. His clothing bespoke great wealth, possibly royalty, and Manet revealed that the short, fat man was a German baron. The lovely young woman was a courtesan, and her favors would be expensive; the necklace was evidence of that. Degas made the introduction. The woman appraised the tall, powerfully built, elegantly dressed American. He looked rich enough, and his appearance was certainly finer than that of the German baron, title or no title.

"I am free for lunch on Wednesday," she said, eyeing Rhett suggestively.

"I believe I am free as well." His black eyes shone with lusty interest.

"Please, join me." She slipped Rhett a calling card with her address written on the back. He put the card in his jacket pocket and gave a polite bow before walking away.

The first time he joined her for lunch on a Wednesday, she answered the door wearing a silk kimono. She took his hand and led him into her sun-dappled apartment overlooking the Boulevard Haussmann. They began with a little soup and bread. Before the second course was served, Céline guided him to her bed. By the time the cheese and fruit arrived, he was bewitched.

"Now, chéri, we will play a little game." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. She placed a blindfold on Rhett and proceeded to tantalize him with tactile stimulation. Touching him with different objects, a peacock feather, a bit of soft fur, a palm frond, a smooth stone, her nails, tongue, and teeth, she varied the location and intensity of the contact. Then she took some gently warmed honey and let small drops fall on his chest, abdomen and loins. They ran a bit before she licked them off. When he reached for her, she batted his hands away and told him the game wasn't over yet. Only after she had teased him to a near frenzied state, did she allow him to touch her. By the end of the afternoon, Rhett was sated, but not spent. Céline had a talent for renewing the vigor of an older man!

The next time Rhett saw Degas, he thanked him for the introduction. Degas replied, "If you are so grateful, buy a painting!" They both laughed. Degas had heard how Céline Durocher affected men.

Each Wednesday she delighted Rhett with a different form of entertainment. Céline, though young, had much experience in the realm of the senses, so she appealed to a sensualist like Rhett. Over time, he began to desire more. Could he possibly spend another day of the week with her? She reserved her Saturdays for a Belgian man who came to Paris to gamble. When his wife fell ill, he gave up Saturdays to pay for her medical care. The Belgian woman's misfortune was Rhett's good fortune; he now had Saturdays with Céline. His goal was to have her for himself the whole week. Céline had other ideas. She desired a patron with a title, thereby ensuring her social acceptability.

After three years Rhett had managed to acquire four days a week with Céline. She stubbornly refused to give up the baron because she craved a royal lover and he gifted her extravagantly. One Saturday night, as they danced at the Jockey Club, Céline whispered in Rhett's ear that he was welcome to stay with her all day Sunday. Rhett was surprised. Usually she requested he leave at 8:00am so that she could prepare for her three days with the German baron, beginning with lunch on Sunday. The baron had been called to Westphalia and would not be back in Paris until late Monday evening. Rhett hoped that the baron would someday be called home to Westphalia permanently. He told Céline nothing would give him greater pleasure than to spend the day with her.

On Sunday morning, after they awoke and made love, Céline rose and said, "Chéri, let's go to Mass."

This amused Rhett greatly. After being paid for her company, Céline wished to repent before God. He remarked on the obvious disparity.

"All have sinned in God's eyes," she replied with a charming smile, "and mine are no worse than anyone else's. Besides the light in Notre Dame shining through the great rose windows is incomparable. I have always wanted to make love bathed in that colored light."

"Somehow, I don't think that would be well received on a Sunday morning," Rhett replied, smiling at her audacity, yet relishing the fantasy.

They stopped in his rooms at the Grand Hotel so he could change clothes. There in the bedroom of his suite, Céline saw the portrait of Rhett and Bonnie.

Fascinated, she asked, "Who is that child you are holding?"

"My daughter," he said, in a voice devoid of emotion.

"Ah, she is beautiful," she said, watching Rhett carefully for a reaction.

When words of praise did not get a rise out of him, she switched tacks. "Does she live with her mother?"

He tensed visibly. "She's dead."

"Oh, how sad!" Céline reached for Rhett, and for the first time, he refused her embrace. She was taken aback. "Have I said something wrong? Have I offended you?"

"I don't care to discuss this," he growled, as he went into the dressing room.

Céline studied the picture while Rhett dressed. In it he appeared to be a good ten years younger. The body language of father and daughter bespoke a close and loving relationship. The artist ably depicted Rhett's tender regard for his child. When he reappeared after changing clothes, he observed Céline staring intently at the painting. He could tell what she had just learned about him stimulated her lust for gossip.

Céline approached Rhett, smiling warmly, while smoothing the lapels of his jacket, "Ah, chéri, you look so handsome today. Please forgive my insensitivity. We must hurry. We don't want to be late."

Later that afternoon, they went promenading through the Tuileries. The scent of roses and lilies from the formal gardens hung heavily in the humid air, as they walked around the large basin in the center of the park. Families were everywhere; children played and laughed, floating boats in the fountain. Céline remarked on the pleasant activity. Rhett smiled and told her he enjoyed children. She asked him if he ever thought about having more children. The thought of losing another child was too painful to be borne he told her. He had his memories and they gave him solace. Besides, he told her he had two stepchildren in America who were now grown.

"And your wife," she asked, glancing at him, waiting for a reaction.

He stopped for a moment and looked at Céline. She could be such a vicious little chit! Obviously, she wanted to pick the scab from this emotional wound and see if it bled. This was not a conversation Rhett wanted to have with anyone, especially not his French mistress. "_Ma belle petite_, don't push me too far. If this were something I wanted you to know about, I would have told you." He spoke quietly, but menacingly.

"Please excuse me, chéri." Céline's eyes darkened with barely suppressed anger. Rhett would keep his secret. She hinted how her other lovers never refused to gossip about their wives. They always talked, if only because they were so happy to be with a woman who was not like the one they left at home.

Sensing the opportunity to turn Céline's interest in Scarlett to his advantage, Rhett decided to make her a generous offer. "If you are so curious about my wife, next spring I will be going to America. I am sure to see her there, at the Kentucky Derby. How would you like to accompany me? I will be traveling with my associate, Georges Marcoux. I would expect him to be your escort at all social functions as it would be inappropriate for me to do so." He appraised her, eyebrow raised, to see how she received his proposal.

Surprise and delight animated her features, and she impulsively kissed his cheek.

Pleased with her reaction, he added, "Of course, you will have to give up your time with the German baron."

"But, of course, chéri."

#

Scarlett ran down the stairs, pulled on her coat and gloves, put on her hat, and dashed out the door. "I must get out," she thought. She walked quickly in the afternoon sunshine, not knowing where to go or what to do now. "That awful, spiteful old man!" She fumed internally. The motor of her rage started to run down as she walked briskly. Eventually she ended up in White Point Gardens. She took a few deep breaths, as her breathing and heart rate started to slow. She no longer shook with impotent fury.

As she gazed out into the harbor, watching ships move into the channel bound for the open ocean, wishing she were on one sailing away from Charleston, she wondered how she could respond reasonably to Rhett. Dan Wilson, head trainer for Butler-Tarleton Stables, had been her closest friend and confidant. He knew nearly everything there was to know about Scarlett's troubled marriage. Her tangled feelings for Rhett and the bouts of loneliness she experienced diminished in significance when she was with Dan. His calm, easy-going nature made him a natural to work with high-strung race horses, and endeared him to everyone who knew him. He had a propensity for seeing humor in the most stressful situations. Even Beatrice had high praise for Dan's abilities. He escorted Scarlett to all social functions related to their business and was at her side the night of the Jockey Club Ball after the Kentucky Derby of 1886. Scarlett had fought long and hard for respect in racing circles. The last thing she needed was the appearance of scandal.

**A/N – Dear readers, unfortunately I have an important professional obligation that will demand most of my free time for the next five weeks. I have received some of the most amazing feedback, and send heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you! Watch this space, next up after my hiatus, the Kentucky Derby.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Gone with the Wind and all the characters created by Margaret Mitchell are property of the Mitchell Estate, I own nothing.**

Spring, 1883

Rhett told Scarlett, at the time he signed the incorporation papers, that as long as his name and investment capital were a part of her business, he would do everything he could to ensure its success. During the first few years after the business was formed, he consistently encouraged Scarlett and Beatrice to enter a Butler-Tarleton three-year-old colt in the prestigious Triple Crown Races. The southern racing circuit was moribund; Charleston, Savannah, Augusta and Richmond had not revived their racing traditions in the aftermath of the war. All the races offering big purses were run either in the north or to the west, in places like Lexington, Louisville, Baltimore, Chicago, Washington, DC, Saratoga Springs, Jerome Park in Fordham, New York, and Monmouth Park in Long Branch, New Jersey. As rail service expanded through the south, traveling out of the region with their horses became easier, so Beatrice rose to the challenge and was all for going forward to achieve the goal.

Most recently, Scarlett received a letter from Rhett in which he suggested she and Beatrice attend the annual yearling auction at Belle Meade Plantation in Nashville in order to acquire well-bred stock and become more competitive. He had heard from an American acquaintance in Paris, A.J. Cassatt, that a colt sired by champion stallion Bramble would be up for auction, and even offered Scarlett money in advance of the sale to ensure she was able to obtain the horse she wanted. Cassatt mentioned that the bidding could go high on such a valuable animal, and that small operations were virtually unable to compete.

Scarlett read the letter three times. It was typical of Rhett's written communication with her, polite, to the point, and containing only useful business information, nothing personal after the salutation. Scarlett treasured Rhett's letters as though they contained tender words of love. If he wanted her to succeed, then he must still care about her in some way. During the war, she remembered thinking Melanie foolish for valuing Ashley's letters when they were so unlike the letters a lover would write. Now she understood.

Despite the impersonal tone, after Scarlett shared its contents with Dan and Beatrice, she carefully placed this letter in a small chest containing sentimental keepsakes. Long ago she had set aside her mother's letters, written during the war, locks of her parents' hair, of Bonnie's and of Melanie's hair, and the handful of letters she had received from Rhett since he left her. It seemed as though the little chest contained her heart. These mementoes were pale reminders of the people she loved best in life. In her way Scarlett loved her children and sisters, but she helped sustain them. None of those around her gave her the support that her parents, Rhett or Melanie had, or so she thought. Bonnie was in a category all her own. She was a part of Rhett, and had she lived, he would probably still be here, perhaps no closer emotionally, visible but unapproachable, yet still under the same roof. Rhett's letters were the last tangible evidence of their connection, and she hoped that someday she might hear his words spoken aloud and touch the hand that held the pen.

Until that day dawned there was business to attend to and after placing the small chest in the bottom drawer of her desk, and locking it, she went off in search of Beatrice. Lily, one of their brood mares, was about to foal, and Scarlett knew she would find Beatrice hovering over the gravid animal.

When Scarlett got to the stable, Beatrice was in Lily's stall, cooing over the newly-born foal. He was just starting to stand on wobbly legs, his dam nudging him gently.

Scarlett stood outside the stall, admiring the foal.

Beatrice looked up. "Where have you been? I thought you'd get here in time to see Lily drop this one." She sounded a little peeved.

Scarlett shrugged, "I had some correspondence to take care of. Beau Wilkes wrote me, and I jotted a quick letter to him, as well as one to Rhett."

"Beau Wilkes?" Beatrice's voice rose with interest.

"I'm his aunt, he's family." Scarlett became slightly defensive, anticipating Beatrice would come back with some comment about Ashley, much as Suellen always did. Scarlett honored her deathbed promise to Melanie by looking out for her only child as best she could from Tara. During the first three years after Melanie's death and Rhett's departure, Scarlett functioned as a mother figure for Beau and her own children, and Ashley was a sort of father figure to them. The children, bound together by shared loss of a parent, were like a small tribe of orphans, clinging to each other, while the adults who were supposed to nurture them grappled with profound changes in their own lives. When Scarlett sent her children away to attend schools in Charleston, fracturing the remnant family unit that had evolved, Ashley and Beau left Atlanta for Macon where Ashley found a job teaching, and eventually, a new wife. Scarlett maintained a warm relationship with her nephew through letters and occasional visits.

Beatrice, however, responded with words of praise which took Scarlett by surprise. "Your mother would be proud of how you take care of your own. You're very much like her in that way." She then turned her attention back to the foal.

Scarlett was taken aback by this, and humbled as well, to be compared to the mother she regarded as a model of saintly perfection. "Thank you for that lovely compliment," she murmured.

Beatrice deflated her immediately, "Now don't get me wrong, you are much more like your father, but I also see your mother's influence." Beatrice gave Scarlett a piercing look, "And like your mother, you don't seem to be happy." She then, stated baldly, "Probably because you're stuck in a dead marriage."

Scarlett's eyes narrowed, a deep furrow forming between them, and a muscle in her jaw twitched. Beatrice realized how angry she'd made Scarlett by speaking her mind. "Don't ruffle your feathers, Scarlett! I wasn't trying to goad you, just make a truthful observation." She then asked, as though to prove her point, "When was the last time you saw Rhett?"

"Wade's graduation from prep school," Scarlett snapped back.

"That was three years ago! You've got to admit you didn't make the best match for all that you had your choice of beaux. I'm not criticizing. Look at my girls. Only Betsy married." Beatrice shook her head sadly, "Back before the war, I thought you'd end up as my daughter-in-law. You'd have done better for yourself you know."

Scarlett had listened with all the scant patience she could muster, and finally spoke. "I'd have ended up just as I am—alone! Besides, you should mind your own business!"

Beatrice snorted, "Honey, you are my business. We're partners aren't we?"

Scarlett started to dig in for a fight, and was about to respond by pointing out that without Rhett's money there would be no Butler-Tarleton Stables when Beatrice abruptly changed the subject. She had spoken her piece and had no desire to further rankle Scarlett.

"I think we should take Rhett's advice and go to Belle Meade for the auction. Have you thought about it at all?" Beatrice came out of Lily's stall and headed for the water pump in the yard to wash off her hands which were coated with grime and streaks of blood.

"What? First, you insult my husband, and then, you tell me he's given us good advice." Scarlett stared defiantly at Beatrice.

"I didn't insult anyone. Now tell me, have you thought about going to Tennessee for the auction?" Beatrice refused to be drawn into an argument.

"If Rhett says it's a good idea, then, we should go," Scarlett said tensely, still stung by Beatrice's comments about her flawed marriage, her eyes glittering with anger.

Hands clean, Beatrice reentered the stable, Scarlett stomping alongside her, and again focused her attention on the new foal, "Alright then, it's settled. Now, what are we going to name this little darling?"

Scarlett said nothing.

"Maybe the name of someone strong and brave," Beatrice mused, "like Ulysses."

Dan had walked up, and joined Scarlett and Beatrice looking over the stall partition at the foal. "Fine looking animal," he commented. "I think this one has the look of a champion."

"We're trying to think of a good name for him, maybe the name of a warrior," Beatrice said.

"We already have a Stonewall, Old Joe, and Bobby Lee," Scarlett replied irritably. "How many more generals do we need?"

"How about Alcibiades?" Dan suggested.

"What's that?" Scarlett asked, perplexed.

Dan laughed, "Alcibiades was a Greek general in the fifth century BC. He was known for his strength and courage. We can call him Al, for short," Dan added helpfully.

Beatrice chimed in, "I like it! What do you think, Scarlett?"

"Well, it's certainly better than naming him after Grant," Scarlett retorted.

Beatrice smiled, "Alcibiades he is!"

So they went forward with Rhett's plan; first, to the Belle Meade auction, and then, on to the Kentucky Derby.

May 14, 1886

This was the fifth Kentucky Derby in which Butler-Tarleton Stables had fielded an entrant, but the first time they posted a win. Alcibiades, their prize-winning three-year-old colt, took second place behind Ben Ali, the thoroughbred owned by California racing giant, J.B. Haggin. Butler-Tarleton Stables had accomplished a tremendous feat, producing a winner from their small operation in Georgia. It was a night of triumph for Scarlett, Beatrice and Jim Tarleton, and Dan Wilson.

The cream of southern thoroughbred racing and breeding society, as well as some of the richest and most prestigious owners in the business, both American and European, were here this evening. All attended the Jockey Club Ball, held after the race, to celebrate the winners. Scarlett was breathless with anticipation of this ball and took pains with her dress, a deep rose silk with cream-colored lace accents which she wore with a triple strand pearl choker. A touch of rouge, coupled with the excitement of the day, made her complexion glow, especially in the soft light throw off by the cut crystal chandeliers. Jim and Beatrice assured her they had never seen her look lovelier. She entered the ballroom on Dan Wilson's arm, feeling like a queen. Among all these wealthy and powerful men, she was one of the honored guests of the evening, a winner.

The group found their table in the crowded ballroom, and was surprised to find that it was set with five places rather than four. The maitre d' who had led them to the table explained that a Mr. Butler had presented his credentials as co-owner of the second place finisher in the Derby, and this was the table reserved for the owners of that horse. This was a most unexpected turn of events, no one, not even Scarlett, was aware that Rhett might be here tonight. The foursome settled in and began to scan the ballroom for friends. Scarlett wondered if Rhett was already milling about somewhere, and tried mightily to suppress the rising bubble of tense excitement she felt at the prospect of seeing him.

She did, however, pick out a familiar face in the crowd, someone who caused her dismay: Nathaniel Dedham. She first met him at the yearling auction at Belle Meade in 1883. At that time, he took an unnatural interest in her marital status. Initially, Scarlett thought he was making a clumsy overture in an attempt to seduce her, but later, after discussing it with Dan, realized his interest was more sinister. Dan and Nate Dedham had a shared history, having both worked for a prestigious racing stable in New York. Dedham became entangled in a scandal involving race fixing and lost a great deal of money. In an effort to reverse his misfortune, Dedham desperately wanted to acquire a horse with potential. He and Scarlett had their eyes on the same colt, the get of Bramble. Rhett advised her to buy him, advanced her the funds, and she wasn't about to disappoint him. Dedham was outbid at auction by Butler-Tarleton, and vowed he'd pay Scarlett and Dan back some day, especially after the colt turned out to be a big winner.

Scarlett leaned over and poked Dan, nodding in the general direction of Dedham. "Do you see who's here?"

Dan could hear the note of anxiety in her voice. "I saw him earlier at Churchill Downs. He managed to attach himself to another operation. Don't pay him any mind." Then Dan laughed, "If he was smart, he bet on Al to show."

Scarlett laughed, too, and relaxed a bit.

Then, as though some inner sense alerted her to a change in the environment, she turned toward the entrance and saw Rhett. It was just like the old days during the war, when his appearance in a room had the effect on her of an abrupt physical impact. Her heart leapt, and she wanted to run toward him with open arms. She told herself she was merely overwrought by the day's excitement, and did not move, did not breathe until she felt her control return.

Rhett was accompanied by a couple, a young woman and a middle-aged man, near to her own age, judging by appearance. The woman caught Scarlett's eye for she was tall, carried herself with aplomb, and wore a breathtaking creation that looked as though it must have come from the House of Worth in Paris. Her gown was made of pale golden satin, and the front skirt panel was intricately embroidered with gold thread and sparkled with tiny glass beads. The cuirass bodice, accented with a froth of gold and cream-colored lace at the shoulders, was low-cut and exposed ample bosom. A butterfly bustle, overlaid with golden lace, and train in satin completed the dress. Diamonds sparkled at her neck and on her ears. Scarlett suddenly felt old, her own beauty eclipsed by the golden glow of this young woman.

Rhett and the mystery couple moved toward a table on the opposite side of the room. There they joined a table of Englishmen who greeted Rhett warmly, and were introduced to the unknown couple. Scarlett watched it all from her vantage point and silently cursed. She had hoped Rhett would sit at her table.

As liveried waiters started to serve the sumptuous meal, Rhett abandoned the English group and joined Scarlett and the others at the Butler-Tarleton table. He still had that light, graceful gait, and took her by surprise as he seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere.

Jim, Beatrice and Scarlett greeted him at the same time. "Rhett, so good to see you." " What a surprise!" "How are you?"

Dan rose and extended a hand, "Mr. Butler, a pleasure to finally meet you, sir."

Rhett shook the extended hand, all the while giving Dan a cool look. "The pleasure is mine, I'm sure."

Scarlett fastened her eyes on him, and reached out, barely touched his sleeve, as if to assure herself that he was not merely a figment of her imagination. He looked at her, a bit puzzled by the possessive gesture, and apologized for his unannounced appearance here this evening.

Once he had settled in his seat between Scarlett and Dan, Beatrice asked, "So Rhett, what brings you to Kentucky?"

Rhett smiled cordially, "I try to catch the Derby or the Belmont Stakes when I come to the States in the spring. Pierre Lorillard told me Butler-Tarleton had a promising entry this year, so I knew I had to come see Alcibiades run. I've been in the country on business for the last four weeks. Coming to the Derby seemed a fine distraction from work."

"If we'd known you were going to be here, you could have joined us in the owner's box," Jim remarked.

Rhett waved his hand dismissively. "It really wasn't necessary. I was with my associate, Georges Marcoux, and his companion. We enjoyed ourselves."

"Besides attending races, what have you been doing in the States?" Beatrice asked.

"Paul Durand-Ruel, a French art dealer who represents a group of avant-garde artists, recently opened an exhibition in New York at the National Academy of Design. Marcoux and I have been helping him find buyers for the works on display." He spoke of his art business with great conviction.

"Is it really that lucrative?" Scarlett asked with genuine interest.

"I certainly hope so; I've started a collection of my own and expect it to appreciate in value. Time will tell." He leaned in toward Scarlett, "Ever inquisitive where a dollar is concerned, aren't you, my dear?"

His jibe elicited a scowl from her.

Rhett asked Beatrice if she had ever been to the pre-war Charleston Jockey Club Ball. Once the highlight of Charleston's social season, it was no longer held. Beatrice remembered those heady days quite well, she had attended a few, she said, but thought this event was different. It had more energy.

As the meal progressed, polite, but essentially meaningless conversation ebbed and flowed, while those seated around the table surreptitiously examined one another.

Beatrice eyed Rhett and Scarlett sitting next to each other, probably for the first time in two or three years, and thought, "They still make a handsome couple. Such a shame their relationship is in shambles." She wondered what her friend, Gerald O'Hara, would think of Rhett's actions. "He'd probably want to break his neck, if I know anything about Mr. O'Hara's Irish temper."

This was the first time Dan had met the infamous Rhett Butler. Oh, he'd heard plenty from Scarlett. He thought the man was a cad to leave her when he did, immediately after the death of her closest friend. Dan was surprised to see how old he was. Still, he cut an impressive figure for an older man: tall, handsome, not too thick in the middle. He wished Scarlett could divest herself emotionally from the relationship because it seemed plain to him that Butler would never take her back.

Scarlett's face was flushed and her eyes glowed in a way that none of those present had seen in a very long time. The look on her face exposed her heart, and it was plain to them all, especially Rhett, that she still loved her estranged husband.

Champagne and strawberries were served at the close of the meal. When all the glasses around the table had been filled, Rhett stood to propose a toast. He lifted his glass and gestured toward Jim and Beatrice, then, Scarlett and Dan, "My congratulations to all of you. Your hard work has certainly reaped a handsome reward. To Alcibiades."

They all joined the toast. Rhett noticed that although Scarlett had raised her glass, she did not drink. Instead, she unobtrusively switched her full glass for Wilson's empty one.

The orchestra started to play and couples began moving toward the dance floor. Rhett asked Scarlett if she would favor him with a dance. She hesitated before accepting, scarcely believing that he had asked.

She tried to size him up, "I don't understand; why are you being so nice to me?"

"It's not a crime to be polite." He added lightly, "Besides I believe I am entitled to dance with you; we are still legally married."

"Very well, Mr. Butler." She smiled at him as she offered him her hand. "Lead on." He held her chair as she rose, and led her to the dance floor.

Many in attendance here tonight knew that Rhett and Scarlett Butler were married, but estranged, so Rhett appearing by his wife's side at this event caused a buzz of gossip. Indeed, as Rhett and Scarlett stepped onto the dance floor together, heads turned, including Nathaniel Dedham's.

She smiled at him, her face flushed, "Dancing with you again after so many years is an unexpected pleasure." Her triumph seemed complete. On the day of their win, she was once again in her husband's arms. Yet, a palpable distance existed between them.

"It's nice to see you so happy, Scarlett, and may I say, you look lovely this evening." Rhett smiled at her warmly, but impersonally. She relished his touch, but he did not hold her as close as he once did. "You, Beatrice and Wilson deserve this."

The compliment delighted Scarlett, and she thanked him.

Rhett's eyes sparkled mischievously. "I've been meaning to ask, who named the horse Alcibiades?"

Scarlett wondered why he cared. "As I recall, Dan suggested the name."

Rhett laughed, "That man has quite a sense of humor."

Scarlett was taken aback by Rhett's amusement, "I don't understand, what's so funny?"

"Oh, Scarlett, I'd forgotten how little you know of history. Alcibiades was well-known for his prowess, both on the battlefield and in the boudoir. If this animal lives up to the name, he should enjoy a long career as a stud horse after his racing days are over."

Scarlett was not sure if he was now laughing at her ignorance, or finding humor in Al's name. "I see," she murmured, then smiled up at him sweetly. "Envious?"

Rhett laughed, shaking his head, "My dear, you never cease to amaze me." He then shifted the subject. "Aside from his talent for naming horses, Wilson seems to be integral to your success."

"Absolutely. We wouldn't be here without him, or for that matter, without your help and encouragement." She looked up at him, "Did you know that Al's sire was that stallion you found for us in France?"

"I wasn't aware." The corners of his mouth went down in that ironic smile Scarlett remembered so well, "That being the case, I definitely expect to receive a portion of his stud fees when the time comes."

"Stud fees? How you do run on!" She appraised him coolly.

"Pierre Lorillard told me he is getting unheard sums of money for the services of Iroquois. Besides, I always get paid for services rendered."

"I'll bet you do!" She nodded, and arched an eyebrow suggestively. "Were you at the Epsom Derby when Iroquois won?"

"I was indeed, and decided at that time that Butler-Tarleton needed one of his get in our stable. I contacted Lorillard when I landed in New York and he told me about his lucrative stud horse."

"Why Rhett, what a gentleman you are! You always do look out for me!" Scarlett's lips curved into her best southern belle simper.

He laughed, "I have a reputation to uphold, my dear." He leaned toward her ear and spoke _sotto voce_, "Speaking of reputations, what's this talk I hear about you and Wilson?"

"Excuse me? Talk? I wasn't aware of any talk." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Gossip seems to follow you wherever you go, Scarlett," he chided.

"No thanks to you, Rhett Butler! Didn't you say you would come back often enough to keep gossip down? Well, you didn't, and I have to pay the price!" Her vehement response startled him; he had stumbled upon a very sore subject with Scarlett. "Let them talk!" she said with an insouciant toss of her head. "There is nothing to talk about. We work well together."

Chastened by her outburst, Rhett backed off, "Apparently."

He changed the subject in an effort to preserve the light mood that had prevailed between them. "How do you think you'll do at the Preakness?"

Racing talk was neutral, and Scarlett responded more calmly. "We're definitely among the top tier of favorites in that race, probably the same for Belmont. I understand your friend, A.J. Cassatt, has a horse entered in the Preakness."

"So I've heard. I believe he's here this evening. Have you met him?" Rhett had started looking around the room, as if searching for the elusive A.J. Cassatt, while they danced.

"No, I haven't. Isn't he the owner of Chesterbrook Farm in Pennsylvania? How do you know him?" It seemed that Rhett knew most of the Europeans and quite a few of the well-to-do Americans in the room tonight.

"Yes, he raises thoroughbreds there. I met him through his sister, Mary; she's an artist in Paris."

"Paris and London are so far away," she said wistfully. "Don't you miss the States?"

"Not really. I have a very agreeable lifestyle." He eyed her for a reaction.

"As do I, what a coincidence!" She laughed.

He laughed with her. "I suppose it's no coincidence that our lifestyles are mutually exclusive."

His comment brought her up short, and the suspicion began to grow, "Is this your way of asking for a divorce again?"

"No, Scarlett," he commented wryly, "I gave up hoping you'd change your mind years ago. I suppose that's why I live on a different continent. It keeps things simple."

"I find it only makes things difficult, especially when I need to track you down for your signature on a legal document," Scarlett replied with pique.

Rhett shrugged. "It's the price you pay, my dear, for your intransigent refusal to divorce me."

His tone changed to one of perfunctory politeness, "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning, early." Scarlett sensed the shift in his mood from playfulness to mere courtesy after the subject of the state of their relationship came up. The joy she felt from being with him started to fade as well. She made one last effort to reach him, "Rhett, I have something for you, back at the hotel. Are you staying at the Galt House?"

"Yes, whatever it is, you can leave it for me at the front desk. I'll pick it up in the morning." The music was ending and Rhett searched the crowd, clearly looking for someone, as he led Scarlett back to the table. Before he left, he said to her, "If I don't see you again before you go, best of luck at the Preakness. Thank you for the dance. I need to find Georges, I left him at the mercy of a table full of Englishmen." He kissed her hand, bowed to the others, and made his way back to his friends' table.

Scarlett's heart sank as she watched him walk away. She wanted to cry out, "Stop! You can't leave!" His sudden appearance and equally sudden departure were chimerical, and she sat stunned, staring at his back as he disappeared into the crowd.

Dan had been watching, waiting for something like this to happen. He took Scarlett's hand and smiled warmly, "Let's dance. After all, this is our party!"

Scarlett followed him, no longer feeling regal.

"Dan, were you aware of any new gossip about us?" Scarlett inquired irritably.

"Oh, just the usual, I'm madly in love with you, and we're having a torrid love affair." He grinned affably, "Why? Who told you this?"

"Rhett," she frowned slightly. Scanning the room, she saw Billy Jackson, a friend from Tennessee, and smiled at him.

"Don't pay him any mind. I'm sure it's nothing." Dan knew how much idle gossip bothered Scarlett, and attempted to calm her by telling her a funny but scandalous story.

J.B. Haggin was Scarlett's next partner. The old gentleman was taken by Scarlett's loveliness and winning ways at the track, and they bantered good-naturedly about whose horse held more promise for winning the Preakness. She took turns dancing with a fellow Georgian, as well as Billy Jackson. When their dance ended Scarlett said she needed to catch her breath and returned to her table. Even Beatrice and Jim had ventured onto the dance floor, so she was sitting alone for a few moments watching the dancers whirl by.

Rhett and the young woman in the golden dress captured her notice; she held his rapt attention. Something about the way he was touching her made Scarlett think their relationship was not merely casual. "He certainly wasn't that fascinated with me when we were dancing," Scarlett thought bitterly. She watched them until she caught Rhett's eye, then she looked away. A few people had come to her table to offer their congratulations on her success today.

When Dan rejoined her he suggested they move around the room to mingle with old friends and associates. From a distance, Rhett watched them intently for a few minutes. In some respects they appeared to be an old married couple, working in tandem, anticipating one another's moves. Clearly, Scarlett enjoyed an amiable relationship with Wilson. The gossip Rhett had alluded to was nothing new. Those who were not acquainted with Scarlett and Dan found their apparent intimacy titillating.

As she circulated through the room, Scarlett would cast furtive sidelong glances seeking Rhett. There was no telling how long it would be until she saw him again. After working their way around the room, Scarlett and Dan returned to their table. She could see Rhett and his guests preparing to leave, and felt strangely let down. Although Dan noticed the change, he didn't press her to explain.

Shortly after Rhett and his guests left, Nathaniel Dedham approached Scarlett and asked for a dance. Despite the nagging feeling that this would be ill-advised, she let Dedham lead her onto the dance floor.

"Well, Mrs. Butler, I had the pleasure of meeting your husband this evening." He felt Scarlett stiffen slightly at his words. "His French companions were most charming."

"I'm sure it was the highlight of your evening," Scarlett replied contemptuously. "No doubt they were the only people in this room who were unaware of your, shall we say, unsavory reputation."

He leered at her. "I can assure you Mrs. Butler, my reputation was not called into question; however, your own forbidden liaison with the esteemed Mr. Wilson..."

Scarlett stopped in the middle of the dance floor. Had they not been in such a public place she would have slapped him. "You are a foul and meddlesome man," she spat out venomously. Another couple bumped into them, and gave them indignant looks. Dedham tried to drag her along and continue to dance, but she pulled away from him and left the dance floor, seething inside.

It appeared that Dan was preparing to leave. Jim and Beatrice had decided to wait for Scarlett to come back to their table so that they could return to the Galt House together. All were taken aback by the black look on Scarlett's face as she hurriedly approached them. "I've got to get out of here, now!" She rushed off toward the cloak room in the lobby.

Dan followed on her heels. "What happened?" he asked as he came abreast of her.

She said only one word, "Dedham."

**A/N - Well, this was very long, and I hope it doesn't drag too much. It's only the first part! It was difficult to get back into writing, and I apologize for the delay.**


	9. Chapter 9

**The usual disclaimer applies, Gone with the Wind and all its characters are the property of Margaret Mitchell and her heirs, I own nothing. **

**Kentucky Derby Part Two**

"I'm going with you," Scarlett told Dan as helped her don her cloak.

"Aren't you tired? Wouldn't you rather go back to the hotel with Jim and Beatrice?" he asked in surprise.

She looked at him, puzzled, "Why? Where are you going?"

He opened the door of the waiting carriage, "Churchill Downs. I have to take care of some last minute details for our departure." She moved to enter the carriage, and Dan helped her in.

On the way across Louisville, Dan asked Scarlett to explain what happened with Dedham. Scarlett poured out her story to him. She felt drained, first from disappointment, then from outrage. The two clouds on her horizon this evening had been Dedham and Rhett, and combined, they produced a storm, leaving her battered.

Though it was late, when they arrived at Churchill Downs there was still activity in the stable. They could hear a raucous game of dice going on somewhere nearby. While Dan went off in search of one of the stable boys, Scarlett found an apple for her horse in a barrel by the door. The floor was uneven and dipped sharply in places, so she picked her way carefully to Al's stall.

He whinnied appreciatively when she held out the apple. She rubbed his nose and spoke in low, soothing tones. "You've got heart, Al, the heart of a champion." Beatrice's preference for horses over people made perfect sense to Scarlett at this moment. Al had become as dear to her as one of her children.

When Dan returned, his final instructions for the morning delivered to the stable boys, he stood next to the opening, waiting for Scarlett to come out of the stall. Al nudged Dan until he gave the horse an affectionate pat on the muzzle.

"Let's go, Scarlett." He smiled as she reached for his arm to help guide her across the uneven floor.

Scarlett made a misstep as they walked the length of the stable, lost her footing on the uneven ground, and started to fall. Dan grabbed for her to stop the momentum of her fall.

"Ouch!" Scarlett cried. "I think I twisted my ankle."

Dan then swept her up into his arms and carried her to a bench outside the stable. The last stall they passed was unoccupied by a horse. The stable boys and grooms had congregated there to play their dice game, and all gaped when Dan walked by carrying Scarlett.

Dan laughed, "It looks like we got their attention. Can you walk on that ankle?"

"I'm no race horse, it'll be fine," Scarlett observed wryly. She took his arm and stood gingerly, slowly easing her weight on the twisted ankle.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm okay," she replied. Then they returned to the waiting carriage.

On their way back to town, Scarlett was silent.

Dan asked if anything else was bothering her.

She shrugged indifferently.

Given all he had witnessed, he could only conclude that Scarlett was thinking of Rhett. "Let go of your past, Scarlett."

"What are you talking about?" she asked sourly.

"Your mood, it's because of Rhett, isn't it? Dedham alone would never affect you like this."

She realized she would have to shake off her wistfulness or Dan wouldn't give her a moment of peace. Scarlett smiled disarmingly at him, "I just don't know what's come over me. It isn't every day your horse places at the Kentucky Derby."

Dan smiled back, "That's the spirit!"

Upon arriving at the Galt House, they started to go their separate ways. Dan stopped her, then, kissed her hand. "I'm going to the bar for a nightcap. See you in the morning."

She smiled, "Thanks, Dan. Good night."

As Dan disappeared around a corner, Scarlett headed for the front desk to find out Rhett's suite number, and then, to her own suite to retrieve an envelope. She decided to stop by Rhett's rooms before retiring. She had to see him again.

***

Rhett heard a knock at the door of his suite and rose to answer. He couldn't imagine who would be looking for him at this hour, unless maybe it was one of the English party goers just arriving back at the hotel after the Jockey Club Ball. Curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to get up and answer the door, just in case it was something important. Céline clung to him as he moved around the bed, despite his assurance that he would return shortly. Playfully, he pushed her back against the pillows, then pulled on a pair of trousers and donned his dressing gown.

When he opened the door, he was surprised, and annoyed to see Scarlett standing there, looking a little apprehensive. "Scarlett! Why are you here?"

"I told you I had something to give you." She held out an envelope for him to take.

He looked at the proffered envelope, and took it from her hand. "I thought I told you to leave this at the front desk," he said, irritated, waving the envelope back and forth. "I find it hard to believe that this couldn't have waited until morning."

"May I come in?" she asked, adding softly, "Only for a moment."

He opened the door wider and moved aside for her. "Only for a moment," he repeated crossly. "This is bad timing, I was already in bed."

"I'm sorry to be a bother, Rhett, but you know I'm leaving for Baltimore first thing in the morning, and I wanted to hear your answer." She watched as he opened the envelope. It was a commencement announcement from Harvard Law School. "Wade will be graduating next week, and apparently, you didn't receive an announcement in the mail."

He looked up from the card.

Scarlett looked at him imploringly, hope and anxiety mixed in her face. "Is there any chance you can join us? This is going to be a very special day for Wade."

"I'm sorry, it's not possible," he replied quietly. Taking her arm, he turned her around toward the door. "I think it would be best if you left now."

Lingering there for a moment, she turned back to face him and attempted to start a conversation. "I... it was good to see you this evening, almost like... like old times, happier times, to dance and be in your arms." Now she was revealing her feelings, "I've missed you, Rhett. I," she drew a deep breath, but before she could finish, he interrupted.

"Scarlett, please! Don't say another word!" He made a motion to place his hand over her mouth, but pulled it back as though he were about to touch something hot.

She continued in a rush, "No, I must, and you must hear me! You're still my husband..."

"Not by my choice! I've tried to respect your wishes, but be reasonable!" Rhett raised his voice in frustration, as he raked his fingers through his hair, and turned away from her. "My God, it's been over for years!"

"You never gave me a chance!" she cried with passionate longing.

"Never gave you a chance! Are you mad, woman? We lived together as husband and wife for over five years. Wasn't that an adequate chance?" Then he remembered the look on her face earlier; that face, always so easy for him to read, told him that she still loved him, still hoped things would change. He hoped she had enough dignity not to continue this nonsense.

Out of the bedroom came the sound of a woman's voice. « Chéri, qu'est qui se passe? Qui est là? » (Darling, what's going on? Who's there?)

« C'est personne. Reste au lit. » Rhett replied. (Nobody. Stay in bed.)

« Mais j'entends une femme. » (But I hear a woman.)

Then Scarlett saw her, the woman in gold, peering out the partially opened bedroom door. Her silk kimono was slipping off her shoulder and she had no nightgown on underneath.

«Bien, si ce n'est pas Madame Butler! » (Well, if it isn't Mrs. Butler!) Céline began to laugh.

«Vas y! Je rentrerai aussitôt que nous sommes finis.» (Go! I will be back as soon as we are finished.) Céline disappeared, laughing, back into the darkened bedroom. Rhett's annoyance showed in his face.

Scarlett turned pale, eyes popping wide open. Her mouth went dry.

He tried to soften the blow of her inadvertent discovery of his mistress. "I'm sorry, Scarlett, I tried to warn you not to come, but you wouldn't listen. I would never intentionally hurt you like this."

She started speaking in a soft whisper at first, but her voice gradually grew louder as the shock of seeing the woman in gold wore off, "Who... who is she?"

"How much more awkward are you going to make this?" he asked softly.

"When I get an answer, I'll leave! Who is she?" Scarlett cried.

"It's not what you think."

"Not what I think? What kind of fool do you take me for? You have a woman in your bed; I believe it is exactly what I think!" Her voice was becoming loud and shrill. "Who is she?"

"Her name is Céline Durocher." He stared at her, his face blank. "You could say this is merely a business arrangement."

"Business my foot! Your favorite kind of business, much like the one you bankrolled in Atlanta for Belle Watling!"

He continued smoothly. "My part in your business required me to find good horses in Europe, so I joined the Jockey Clubs in London and Paris. One of the conditions for joining the Jockey Club of Paris was taking a mistress. Mademoiselle Durocher is my Jockey Club mistress. Thanks to her, you have your Kentucky Derby second place finish." He turned his hands palms up, gesturing as if offering her something, "There you have it," he said with a note of finality.

"You swine! Only you would think of something like that! We worked hard--me, Dan, Beatrice! It was us, not your French whore, who made this win possible! I suppose she's the reason you were so interested in receiving a portion of Al's stud fees! Take your fancy mistress and go back to Paris!"

"Surely you're not jealous?" he asked with bitter irony.

"Jealous? Of her? And you?" She glared at Rhett. "No, damn you, I'm not jealous!" she hissed. "To hell with you and that tramp! If you still really want that divorce, it's yours. Send the papers to my lawyer in Atlanta!"

Rhett gripped Scarlett's wrist and gave her a hard look, "Did you mean what you just said, about a divorce?" His voice had an edge to it. After so many years of refusal, he found it difficult to believe she had just capitulated. Sure social ruin was inevitable for a divorcée; he understood Scarlett's reluctance to take that drastic step.

"Every word!"

He released her wrist and she moved quickly to open the door. Before leaving, she looked back at Rhett. Rage distorted her features. She then slammed the door shut.

"A fine mess," Rhett muttered to himself. He was still holding the announcement. He admired the embossed cover and engraving. After removing Wade's name card, he struck a match, lighting a corner of it, then threw it in the fireplace, and watched the flames devour it, making a mental note to send a letter of congratulations and a present. At that moment he doubted he would ever see Scarlett again.

***

When Scarlett pushed open the door to her suite, her wrath burned like an all-consuming fire and she was powerless to quench the flames. The evening replayed in her mind, with certain moments coming into sharp focus. Suddenly, she remembered how Rhett held Céline when they danced, how he was looking at her. "How could I have been so blind?" she thought. She cursed herself for it, and for yielding to emotions long suppressed. The joy she had felt earlier this evening had long ago evaporated. The crowning blow had been Rhett's jeering suggestion that somehow his filthy mistress was responsible for their win. That thought brought a new wave of anger. How dare he!

She paced the sitting room of her suite wondering how she was going to calm down enough to go to sleep. In the back of her mind she realized that she needed to stay on track with Dan's plans for the morning. Caught in a maelstrom of emotion, the urge to drink overwhelmed her, despite her efforts to suppress it. The only thing she could think of that would help her now was brandy. How could she discretely acquire a bottle of liquor? Room service? Yes, call for room service. She rang the bell and waited for a servant to appear at her door.

"Please bring a bottle of Napoleon brandy. Thank you."

That was easy.

For the first time since Melanie died and Rhett left her, she admitted to herself that she couldn't get him back. It was done. What now? The shame of divorce? In her rage she told him she would consent to a divorce. Did she really mean it? For all these years she had refused a divorce because she hoped he would return. He didn't want to be free to marry again. He always made that plain. No, he just wanted to be rid of her. He attempted to force her to agree to divorce, just as he had forced her to say yes to his marriage proposal.

Fifteen minutes later the bottle arrived with four glasses. The servant assumed that guests would be sharing this quantity of liquor. Scarlett signed for the brandy and a waiter brought the tray into the sitting room of her suite. He set it down on a table and she stared at it. She picked up one of the extra glasses and turned it over in her hand, feeling its heft. A fierce urge took hold of her and she threw it at the fireplace. The sound of the shattering glass was satisfying and she laughed, "For you Rhett!" She picked up a second glass and threw it as well, "And your French whore!"

Now she was going to drink. The lilting tones of Céline's voice, and Rhett barking at her in French to return to the bedroom burned in her brain, and she had to drown out the sounds. She cursed Rhett, she cursed her own stupidity, and she cursed Céline. It was dangerous for her to start drinking. She remembered her breakdown at Tara twelve years ago, how hard it was to get back up and stay sober. She remembered Mammy chastising her, Will and Suellen confronting her. But none of them were here. This was only one night, and she needed it so badly. It was just Scarlett and this beautiful bottle of brandy. Liquid comfort wrapped in black and gold. She reached for the bottle, her hand shaking, her mouth dry. "I know when to stop," she thought. "I can be strong."

Be strong, it was the refrain running through her brain as she unwrapped the bottle and pulled out the stopper. She inhaled the strong alcohol odor gratefully. How good this was going to feel! She poured a glassful and brought it to her lips, pausing for a second before tossing the shot back. Quickly she poured another and downed it as well, then, there was a soft knock on her door. She cursed silently.

"Scarlett, are you awake?" a man called quietly from the hall.

The voice jolted her back from the brink. It was Dan.

She opened the door a crack and peered out at him. "Uh, no. I was getting ready for bed."

"Something has come up and we need to talk. Can I come in for a minute?" There was a note of urgency in his voice.

She opened the door a little wider and beckoned him in.

They didn't notice Nathaniel Dedham, who had just gotten off the elevator, staring and nodding slightly with a sinister grin plastered on his face--he'd finally caught them! Dan was sneaking into Scarlett's room at midnight, surely this was the proof he'd wanted that they were lovers. "Just wait until that stiff-necked woman's husband finds out he's being cuckolded by the trainer!" he thought. Dedham laughed softly to himself as he ambled down the hall to his room.

Scarlett stumbled back from the door as Dan entered her suite. "Down in the bar I ran into Sam Boothe and he told me the rail route to Baltimore includes a long stop in Lexington. I thought it might be a good idea to get off the train and check out..."

He noticed her unsteadiness, then, spied the brandy and a full glass poured and stopped speaking abruptly. Nodding toward the liquor, he asked, "Someone joining you for a nightcap?"

"Oh, no. Room service brought it," she said airily.

"But you called for it, didn't you?" He scrutinized her, and saw her hands shaking slightly and he realized she already had the smell of liquor on her breath. He began to carefully draw out her reason for wanting to drink so badly.

"Yes." She stared vacantly at the liquor bottle.

"Is this what you really want to do?" he questioned gently. "We have to be up early in the morning."

"I know," she replied automatically.

"Scarlett, what happened after I left you in the lobby?" The last time he saw her, she seemed to have regained her equilibrium.

"I went to Rhett's room, to give him Wade's graduation announcement," she said, a dazed look on her face.

"And what happened then?" he coaxed.

"There... there was a woman there, the one in the golden dress... at the party." She gazed at him vacantly, "Did you see her?"

"I did see her. She's traveling with Rhett and his partner, isn't she? Was there a problem?" Dan looked at her inquisitively.

"Oh, Dan! Apparently they fooled you as well. She was half-naked and came walking out of his bedroom while I was there." Scarlett stood and began pacing the room.

Dan started to laugh which only made Scarlett more angry.

She spun around to face him. "What do you find so amusing?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

Dan wasn't surprised to hear this, he expected as much. "You always said he's a randy old goat! That girl must be thirty years younger than he is!"

"Well, for your information," she cried in exasperation, "that 'randy old goat' attributes our win today to his little French trollop!"

"How does he figure that?" Dan asked, still amused.

"He said he had to take a mistress when he joined the Jockey Club of Paris; she's the mistress. Al's sire was the French stallion he acquired through his associates in the Jockey Club, therefore, no mistress, no stallion, no Alcibiades."

"Oh, Scarlett. Don't you see the humor here?" In spite of Scarlett's distress, Dan couldn't help but laugh. Rich older man, beautiful young mistress, it was a tale as old as time.

"No!" Scarlett found Dan's amusement with her humiliation galling.

"Don't you think he looks a little ridiculous?" he asked cautiously.

"Just as ridiculous as any rich older man looks with a very young mistress. We've seen it before." Scarlett thought back to last spring at Belmont, and Leonard Jerome strutting around, showing off his latest conquest.

"Yes, we have, and you've always laughed."

"That's because those other rich older men cavorting with young mistresses weren't my husband!" Scarlett cried in anguish.

"I'm sorry you're so distressed, but in all fairness, yours is hardly a conventional marriage. You two don't live together; he lives abroad. Now the brandy there won't help anything." He pointed at the bottle.

"There's something else." She gazed into his weathered face with its deeply etched laugh lines, "I asked for a divorce." Then she turned away.

"I thought you swore you would never divorce, what changed your mind?" This was a big surprise, Scarlett had always been adamant on the subject of divorce.

Her eyes were blazing as she spoke, "He flaunted that woman right in front of me. If that's not proof its over, I don't know what is. I have that much self-respect."

"You've worked hard to build up your business. Are you sure this is what you want?" His voice was calm and gentle, to avoid adding to her distress.

"If I'm ruined, so be it." With a sweeping gesture of her arm she went on. "I want to forget everything that happened tonight."

"So you're going to drink a bottle of liquor?" Dan took Scarlett's hands and squeezed them to get her attention. "Scarlett, you've always been so good about staying focused in the here and now. Don't look back, he's not worth it. He's in the past. Al is our future. That horse is a winner, seven first place finishes and three second place finishes in twelve starts. Stay focused, stay on track with me." The soothing quality of his voice was almost enough to make Scarlett let go of the past, of Rhett, but not quite.

"I want to, oh, Lord, how I want to," she moaned. "He's been part of my life for twenty-five years. It's not that easy."

"This," he said picking up the brandy bottle by the neck, "is not the way to forget. Now, call your maid and go get ready for bed."

He started to move toward the door, brandy bottle in hand, when Scarlett grabbed his arm, "Don't leave me!"

Dan shook his head, a quizzical look on his face, "Why?"

"I can't be alone," she said simply, quietly. "Not tonight."

"My being here in the first place is unseemly enough, but if it'll make you feel better, I can stay in the sitting room until you go to sleep." Dan could see how vulnerable she was at this moment. Though he had an impetuous desire to kiss her, he knew that in the morning she would realize it had been a terrible mistake. He meant every word about Alcibiades being their future, a future as owner and trainer of a champion destined for a great season. With hard work, Al would be the first of many champions produced by Butler-Tarleton Stables. He wasn't about to throw that away in a moment of foolishness.

"Try to get some sleep. If you need me, I'll be here." He gave her forearm a gentle squeeze.

"Thanks, Dan." She raised her chin and squared her slumping shoulders, as she walked into her bedroom to ring for her maid. That simple act was proof to Dan that her flagging spirits would rise.

"Good night, Scarlett" he said softly in her wake.

After slipping into a nightgown, Scarlett lay back on her bed, hoping sleep would come and blot out the vision of Rhett dancing with the golden young Frenchwoman. It never did.


	10. Chapter 10

**The usual disclaimer applies. I don't own GWTW or any of its characters.**

Scarlett's reverie was broken by the raucous cries of gulls wheeling overhead and swooping down on the breakwater searching for food. The sun was low in the sky, and the wind had picked up, turning cooler in the waning light. Scarlett shivered from the penetrating damp chill as she rose wearily from the bench. The lamplighters were beginning their work, and she thought, "It must be almost five o'clock." Slowly, dispiritedly, she started walking toward the Butler house.

Painful memories of that night in Louisville made Scarlett feel heartsick. Of course, it had to come out. It was the last time she and Rhett had seen each other prior to her arrival in Charleston on Sunday. What hurt the most were Rhett's accusations based on Nathaniel Dedham's lies. All Dan had done was keep her from drinking herself into a stupor that night, and for that she owed him a debt of gratitude. Had it not been for him, she might have ended up much as Rhett had, poisoned by alcohol and dying from it, or worse. Women who drank brought shame on their families, and were often sent to insane asylums. "Death would be preferable to that fate," she thought. She had been lucky. Without the twin dynamos of Beatrice and Dan by her side, propelling her forward quickly and forcefully, she might have been like Lot's wife, looking back at what was lost, and destroyed in the process.

Scarlett allowed Rhett to get under her skin too easily, and make her feel defensive, which in turn made her sound guilty. The only thing she was guilty of that long ago night in Louisville was harboring unrequited love for her husband, and Rhett made sure her dreams of reconciliation died a brutal death.

When she arrived at Rhett's house she could hear a commotion upstairs. He was loudly chastising the servants who were scurrying about cleaning up some mess in his sitting room. Scarlett looked in as she was about to walk by and saw Rhett sitting on the floor, legs splayed out in front of him, his head leaning against a chair seat, his eyes closed. It looked as though his right knee might have been bleeding into the fabric of his nightshirt. She put up her outerwear in her room, and came back to the sitting room.

Standing in the doorway, she asked no one in particular, "Do you need some help?" All movement stopped and the servants turned to look first at her, then at Rhett.

Rhett opened his eyes, and upon catching sight of Scarlett, rudely ordered her out of the room.

Her humiliation at his hands was now complete; he had dressed her down in front of the servants. Scarlett's mouth formed a round O of shock, and she recoiled, as if from a physical blow.

Joseph stepped forward, and quickly moved Scarlett into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. "Captain Butler lost his balance trying to get up and a tea tray fell over. He get angry about such things. Don't take it to heart, Missus Butler." He smiled warmly. Initially stunned, she was now starting to feel a surge of angry resentment. She assumed that Joseph was used to these sorts of outbursts, but by God, she wasn't, and she was determined not to take any more of this sort of abuse.

Back in her room, Scarlett found her knitting bag lying on the bed, most likely retrieved by one of the servants. Looking around her, a notion crystallized and she started to open drawers and pull out her things. She went to the dressing room and opened her trunk and began throwing her dresses into it. She hadn't brought much, only enough for a few days' visit, so she thought she would be able to complete her packing quickly.

Once calm was restored in the house, Joseph appeared at Scarlett's door and asked if she would like to take her supper with Captain Butler.

She stared at him in disbelief. Did the man think she was a total glutton for punishment? "I'll take my meal here," she said, adding, "You can tell Captain Butler I am indisposed."

Joseph replied, "As you wish, Missus." He noticed the contents removed from the chest of drawers, and could see Scarlett's open trunk in the dressing room. "Begging your pardon, Missus, but are you packing?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Scarlett replied curtly. "And you can tell Captain Butler that, too!"

Joseph nodded his head, a thoughtful look on his face, as though considering what he could say to make Scarlett reconsider. "Captain Butler can be a mighty hard man."

Scarlett said nothing, just stared defiantly at Joseph.

He continued, "He tol' me about your little girl, how his heart was broke a long time ago."

She still said nothing, but wondered why Joseph was bothering to tell her these things.

Joseph looked at Scarlett as though gauging her reaction to his words. He ratcheted up the appeal in response to her indifference. "He get lonely. When you wired to say you was coming, he was very happy."

"He certainly has a strange way of showing it," she snapped.

Joseph bowed his head to her deferentially, and turned to go, his efforts at persuasion having failed. Scarlett stopped him and asked, "Before you leave, tell me what happened in the sitting room a little while ago?" She was curious to know more and wondered if Joseph would really be forthcoming.

"Captain Butler been having a bad day since the doctor came this morning. Lots of sickness this afternoon. He was feeling weak and fell. He skinned his knee, it bled some." He recited this litany of ills as if it was a matter of routine. His tone then rose optimistically as he said, "He be okay now. You can go see him if you like."

Scarlett pressed on, "Does he often have these black moods and outbursts of anger?"

"Mostly when the doctor come and stick him with the needle. Otherwise, he do fine." Joseph smiled. "He tell me he wants you to come see him after you eat your supper."

Scarlett ignored the invitation to join Rhett. She was trying to figure out the relationship between Rhett and Joseph, to understand how Joseph could be so intensely loyal to such a nasty master. "Joseph, you're not from the South are you?"

"No, ma'am. I'm from the West Indies." He looked at her impassively.

She pressed on, "How did you meet Captain Butler?"

"I was a steward on a ship owned by one of his friends from the war days. Captain Butler needed some help after he had his attack of apoplexy, so his friend took me to meet him in London. I been with him for ten years now."

Apparently Joseph had only known Rhett in sickness and affliction, but that still didn't explain his willingness to tolerate what could only be described as abusive behavior. "How badly was he affected by the apoplexy, Joseph?"

He shrugged, "Bad enough. I helped him, he got stronger."

"Thank you, Joseph. That's all." Scarlett had decided to end her inquiry for now. Joseph looked uncomfortable answering her probing questions and was visibly relieved when she dismissed him.

When her supper tray was delivered, Scarlett picked at her food. Her anger had cooled, and in light of Joseph's appeal to her emotions, she remembered she did assure Rhett that she would stay. How much more could she take? She was unsure how to handle this dilemma, wanted to tell Rhett his behavior was totally unacceptable, and that as a consequence, she was leaving. Facing the inevitable, she marched down the hall for her confrontation with him. She tapped on the door of his bedroom.

"Come in," came the muffled reply.

She entered the room and saw him lying against the pillows, eyes closed, and looking very pale. "Feeling better now?"

Rhett opened his eyes and looked at her dully, "As well as could be expected. I've had a miserable day. And you?"

Scarlett looked at him, annoyed, "Well, thanks to you, mine was no bed of roses either." The tone of her voice was tinged with hostility.

Rhett shrugged and shook his head. "Where were you?"

"You don't remember our little shouting match earlier? Or berating me in front of Joseph and the other servants?" she asked in disbelief.

"I've had severe intestinal distress, and Joseph gave me several doses of paregoric, it dulls the mind." His speech was slightly slurred, and Scarlett could tell he was not himself.

She eased off a bit, "You were bleeding before?"

"A nuisance, my skin is so fragile it fairly sloughs to the touch. I shan't bleed to death." She noticed purple bruises on his hands as well.

"I'm glad it was nothing serious." Scarlett then spoke with firm determination, "You made some harsh accusations this afternoon. I'd like to know why."

Rhett sighed, and looked away, his eyelids fluttering up and down in an effort to stay awake. "What did I say that you found offensive?"

"What did you say that _wasn't_ offensive?" Scarlett looked at him in shocked disbelief. It was starting to dawn on her that perhaps the effect of the medication blunted his memory of their argument.

Rhett started to speak, but faltered, his head lolled back and he closed his eyes tightly, groaning.

At first she thought this was some ruse on his part to divert her. Gradually she realized he was really in distress. "Rhett, what's wrong?" she asked, alarmed.

He held his hand up and shook his head, continuing to grimace. In a hoarse whisper he directed her to call Joseph for him.

Scarlett had forgotten her grievance and reason for wanting to speak to Rhett after witnessing his spell. Immediately she pulled the bell cord to call for his valet.

When Joseph appeared, he knew exactly what to do without anything being said. He went to Rhett and helped him sit up on the side of the bed, then, over his shoulder he spoke to Scarlett, telling her it would be better if she left Rhett's room at this time. She hesitated with a questioning look, but he smiled and told her all would be well. Quickly, she walked out of the room and returned to her own.

Through the night, Scarlett heard more noise coming from Rhett's rooms down the hall. Apparently the sickness which had plagued him in the afternoon continued into the evening and night. Up until now she hadn't given much thought to how this illness affected Rhett, and lying awake, listening, she wondered if these bouts of severe distress were causing him to behave so disagreeably.

The disruption caused Scarlett to sleep fitfully and she awakened feeling groggy. Thinking a brisk walk and fresh air would help dispel her lethargy, she spent the morning at the market admiring all the produce and flowers brought in from the surrounding countryside. Country folk sold handcrafted items such as baskets woven from palmetto leaves or willow switches, corn husk dolls and carved whirligigs and gee-gaws. The toys reminded her of Wade's children and how much she would miss them at Christmas. A feeling of melancholy began to descend on her. "I shouldn't be here," she thought. "I should have stayed in Georgia."

Rhett slept away the day. Since Scarlett hadn't received any explanation from him the previous evening for his boorish behavior, she began to harbor burgeoning feelings of resentment. As she restlessly awaited her chance to speak to him, she tried to write a letter to Randa Tarleton about bringing in the second hay harvest. Her melancholy deepened as she thought about her home, and a few tears leaked out of her eyes. She wiped them away with a handkerchief, and was clutching it tightly in her fist when she heard a knock at her door. She quickly wiped her face and tossed the handkerchief aside, annoyed with herself for giving in to tears. Joseph had come to tell her Captain Butler was now awake and would like to see her.

He smiled, and asked her, "Shall I tell him you be coming to see him?"

"I suppose," she said coldly.

When Scarlett joined Rhett, she noticed he looked somewhat better than he had the previous evening, not so pale and more alert, but more drawn, the hollows of his eyes deepened. He watched her as she entered the room and sat in the chair next to the bed. Her face was set in harsh lines, her movements, tense.

"How are you this evening?" he asked. He looked at her in a way that faintly resembled the old 'cat at the mouse hole' look she remembered, and she wondered if Joseph had told him she was packing to leave.

Scarlett was feeling cross from fatigue and emotion, and wasted no time with pleasantries, launching into her attack, "I want to explain something to you."

He nodded, "I'm listening."

"What you said about me and Dan Wilson, it's false. It's gossip pure and simple. That night in Louisville, after I saw you and..., after I returned to my suite, he came to see me in my room, but he stayed to prevent me from drinking. We were never physically intimate. He was a very close friend, and knew of my weakness for drink in times of stress. Given what you've been through, you should have had a friend as true as Dan Wilson, looking out for you." She stared hard at him, expecting to hear an objection, but none was forthcoming so she continued. "Dedham's a liar and a cheat. You used to be very good at picking out his type a mile away. Did you lose your discernment, or were you so hell bent on thinking the worst about me that you gladly ate the mouthful of rubbish he fed you?"

He side-stepped her direct question. "When I met him at the Galt House the morning after the ball, he told me he was an old friend of Wilson's and knew the man well. It gave him some semblance of credibility." Then, he gave her a look of supplication, "I don't wish to argue any more."

"Really!" She was incredulous. "You threw this foul accusation at me, but now you don't want to argue. If you don't choose to believe me, that's your prerogative. I will take my leave, and return to Georgia." She rose and turned to go when he spoke.

"No," he rasped in a weak voice.

"No, what?" she demanded, pausing in the doorway.

"Don't leave." He spoke quietly, almost pleadingly.

"Why?" she asked harshly.

"You said you'd stay." Then he lowered his voice, "Besides, I believe I owe you an apology."

She turned slowly, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You, apologize, to me? That'd be a first!"

"I'm sorry; I was angry and I took it out on you." Amazing, she thought, he almost looks like he really means it.

"What brought about this sudden change of heart?" She was starting to soften a little, but wasn't going to let this go without making sure he understood how badly he offended her.

"Joseph pointed out that I was behaving hatefully all day yesterday. He does not wish me to run you off as I did my sister." An interesting conundrum was starting to take shape in her mind. Was Joseph pushing Rhett to behave appropriately, or was Rhett using Joseph as his go-between to gain her cooperation.

Regardless, it appeared to Scarlett that pleasing Joseph meant more to Rhett than treating her with respect. She lashed out, "Oh, so you'll apologize to make your valet happy? Giving me offense doesn't matter?"

"That's not what I meant!" Rhett sounded perturbed, and distractedly ran his fingers through his hair.

Yet, Scarlett pushed back, "What _did_ you mean?"

"I was wrong to accuse you." He spoke with sincerity, causing Scarlett to blink in disbelief.

"You believe me then?" she asked, incredulous.

"I do. Will you stay?" Rhett gazed intently at her.

"That depends." She raised her chin and looked away from him, unable to meet his gaze.

"On what?" he asked.

She turned back, her green eyes blazing with passionate intensity, "On you. Can you assure me that this won't happen again? I see no need to justify myself to anyone, especially not you."

"All right then, it won't happen again." Rhett spoke in a flat, weak voice. His energy was starting to flag and he closed his eyes.

"If there is nothing further to discuss, I'm going to retire now." Scarlett's head was starting to ache from tension.

"But you'll stay?" he asked quietly, needing the affirmation.

She nodded grimly, feeling as though she had just been condemned to prison.


	11. Chapter 11

**The usual disclaimer applies,**_** Gone with the Wind**_** and all its characters are the property of Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.**

On Sunday, a week after Scarlett's arrival in Charleston, she went to the convent to see Carreen. It had been a few years since she had last visited her sister, and Scarlett looked forward to their reunion. While she waited in the visitors' parlor, she examined the religious statuary around the room. The unseeing eyes of pious, yellow-tinted saints gazing heavenward, and a bleeding Christ on the cross made Scarlett feel faintly uncomfortable, as though they knew she had fallen away from the faith many years ago, and condemned her for it. Already feeling a bit unsettled, Scarlett was startled by Carreen's appearance upon entering the room. She had never gotten used to seeing her delicate little sister swathed in the voluminous black serge robes of an Ursuline nun. The white linen guimpe covering her from mid-chest to chin, and the white linen bandeau across her forehead left only her face exposed. She wondered, a little guiltily, if it was true that upon exchanging the white veil of a novice for the long, black veil of a professed religious, she had to shave her head. When Ella was a little girl, going to school here at the convent, she had pulled her mother aside and, in a furtive whisper, asked that very question. At the time Scarlett pooh-poohed the notion, but ever after, it was the first thing that popped into her head when she saw Sister Mary Joseph, and she found the thought repellent.

Despite Scarlett's underlying feelings of unease, they greeted each other warmly. Carreen wrapped an arm around Scarlett's waist and led her to a long sofa in the far corner of the room where they could converse in semi-privacy. With little prodding, Scarlett gladly began to relate all the news of home and family. As happy as she was to see her oldest sister and hear about the people she loved, Carreen was curious to know why Scarlett had chosen to visit so close to Christmas. Scarlett's expression changed, and her face reflected her confusion and pain. Why, indeed. She had been asking herself the same question for the past week.

She shook her head, perplexed. "Rhett is dying. He asked me to come because he had business to discuss with me. But I think perhaps the business he wanted to discuss was a sort of resolution to our relationship. For twenty-seven years we have been separated, with no clear sense of what we mean to one another."

"I shall pray even harder for him now," Carreen murmured.

Taken aback, Scarlett eyed her sister curiously, "Even harder? You pray for Rhett?"

Sister smiled beatifically. "Scarlett, dear, I pray for each and every one of you, especially for you and Rhett. I pray for God to heal your hurt and reveal the love that is there. I guess I'm not praying hard enough. It's taking an awfully long time for this particular prayer to be answered."

Scarlett gaped at her sister. "You don't understand. There is no love left. We have argued almost daily since I arrived. I gave him my word that I would stay, but with each passing day I find it more difficult."

Carreen had a compassionate soul and could hear the pain in her sister's words. "We can never know God's plan for our lives. Sometimes the most difficult task placed before us is meant to help us grow, and experience God's love. You must stay and make his last days better. Let him know your love is true and deep. In this, my dear sister, you reflect the love of God for your husband."

Carreen's eyes shone with serenity, and her voice and gentle manner were soothing. Scarlett noticed for the first time a strong resemblance to their mother. While it felt good to share the burden of her feelings, bottled up this past week, with someone who loved her, all this God talk was irrelevant to Scarlett.

Softly and sadly, she reiterated, "I told you, I don't love him anymore."

Carreen tried again to touch her sister's heart. "You may not be in love, but he was the father of your beloved daughter. You wouldn't have come to him if there was no love."

Scarlett was not an analytical person, and this explanation made little sense to her. Her faith was not metaphysical or mystical. She did not understand the world in which Sister Mary Joseph lived. It was well and good for Carreen to see the hand of God in the events of the outside world; she lived in this cloister and didn't have to deal with Rhett's illness or the irrational anger it spawned. Scarlett felt tormented by their bitter reunion, yet realized she could not deny Rhett his last request. She looked into Carreen's eyes, and said, "I don't have your faith. Mine is lacking."

A bell chimed softly in some distant part of the building, immediately catching Carreen's notice. "I must go to chapel. It's time for recitation of the Angelus. Come back and see me again next Sunday, I'll have something to share with you." They rose and walked to the front door of the convent together. Carreen embraced Scarlett lightly. "Please think and pray about what we've discussed. Adieu, dear sister."

After leaving the convent, Scarlett spent the afternoon exploring Charleston. She was in no hurry to return to Rhett's house. The walls seemed to be closing in on her there. She missed the wide open spaces at Tara, the paddocks surrounded by miles of neatly whitewashed fences, and the sight of her thoroughbred horses in the pasture land. As she walked she thought about the last week. Rhett drew her here, and then appealed to her to act as a wife would, yet she hardly recognized him as the man she married so many years ago. She was ashamed of the woman she had been during the early years of their marriage: vain, selfish, immature, and blind to Rhett's love. She had changed, grown, perhaps even attained some wisdom; in short, she was now the woman Rhett doubted she could become when he left her. Her breakdown had been like the refiner's fire, separating the dross in her life from what was precious.

After going home to Tara to grieve and then recover, the families of Clayton County welcomed Scarlett back as one of their own. The alienation she felt in Atlanta dissipated, and she regained her authentic self. She was a country person, and like her neighbors, she lived in rhythm with the seasons, and worked hard. Together they celebrated life's good times, and supported each other through the bad. Beatrice became her mentor and guide as they went into business, one who would not allow Scarlett to palm off a lie or attempt to cheat a potential buyer. In later years, Dan could be a satisfactory companion, making her laugh, in spite of herself. Yet, there was always something missing. She was acutely aware that she faced the world alone. Rhett was the companion she craved, and she had wanted to be with him in life, not as he died. Everything was twisted around and inside out. She held onto her love for him and maintained a steadfast belief that he would return to her until that night in Louisville. Even then, she still harbored the faintest hope that somehow, something might change, especially since, as the years went by, no divorce papers arrived for her signature. This bizarre reunion was not what she wanted or ever expected.

***

Upon returning to the house, she was surprised to see a carriage parked outside. In the week she had been here, Dr. Magruder was the only visitor. She hesitated to enter, but then rationalized, she was Rhett's guest as well, as welcome as anyone, and technically, still his wife. With a little curiosity, and trepidation, she entered the home.

Voices carried down the stairs from the upper level. She heard a woman's voice as well as Rhett's. She stiffened, could this be one of Rhett's lady friends? Oh, well, what did it matter now? Scarlett climbed the stairs slowly, taking deep breaths in order to control her emotions.

When she reached the door to the sitting room, she saw Rhett reclining in the chaise and a rather homely woman, close to his own age, sitting in the chair across from him, drinking tea. "Not the type of woman he would be attracted to," she thought. Scarlett was thankful to avoid an embarrassing encounter with any of his old lovers, especially the Frenchwoman. Rhett called out to her to join them.

"Scarlett, do you remember me telling you about Sally Brewton? She is a very old friend of mine. She is the one who provided me with the introduction to Bart Moreland all those years ago when I went to Ireland to buy horses."

Scarlett's face leapt with recognition, "Why yes, how nice to meet you! I owe you a debt of gratitude for that wonderful introduction, Bart Moreland did more for my stables than anyone other than Beatrice Tarleton. We successfully bred his stock to produce several of our best racehorses." She and Sally embraced lightly.

"My pleasure, it's nice to meet you as well." Sally smiled mischievously and winked at Scarlett, "I hope this layabout," pointing at Rhett, "isn't trying to take advantage of you, Scarlett"

Scarlett smiled and suggestively arched an eyebrow at Rhett, "I've been living alone for a long time; I dare say I could give Captain Butler a run for his money. That is if he'd tempt me."

"Ladies, please, if I had the energy, it would be a miracle," Rhett replied laughing. "Speaking of things miraculous Scarlett, how was your sister?"

Scarlett had moved to the fireplace and was holding her hands out to warm. She turned to Rhett, and said, "Carreen is well. She asked after you."

He nodded appreciatively. "You must give her my regards as well. Will you be seeing her again?"

"Yes, next Sunday."

Sally had been watching Scarlett carefully, then, she rose, "I must be going. My husband is expecting his Sunday dinner." She bent down and kissed Rhett on the forehead. "See you soon, dear boy." After straightening, she asked Scarlett to see her to the door.

Sally took Scarlett's arm, and they descended the stairs, but instead of heading for the front door, went into the parlor, where a fire was glowing in the hearth. Sally slid the pocket doors closed, and turning to face Scarlett, said, "Thank God, you finally arrived."

Scarlett eyed Sally warily, wondering what she was leading up to. "Why is my presence here so important after all these years?"

Sally led Scarlett to the settee and pulled her down to sit. "Dr. Magruder has explained the situation to you. Rhett is afraid to be alone, afraid to lose his mind to this illness. Rosemary and I thought of you. We've watched him deteriorate over the last year. Rosemary couldn't take anymore and left two months ago. It grieved her to leave her brother in such condition, but she, we both, thought you might have the power to be more objective. For you, the horror of the change is dramatic, for us it has been incremental. We are putting our faith in you." Sally was looking at her intently, trying to discern whether or not Scarlett had grasped her full meaning.

"I don't think I follow this, Sally." Scarlett muttered, more to herself than to Sally, "I deal in the obvious, spell it out. Why did Rosemary leave? Was it the black moods, the outbursts? Did he lash out at her the way he has been with me this week?"

Sally shook her head sadly, and looked at her hands, "It was very difficult for Rosemary to endure, too. This behavior is an effect of his disease, and as such, can't be helped." She looked up met Scarlett's eyes, "But there was something else." She paused then, said, "He asked for you."

"Me?" Scarlett furrowed her brow. "He asked for me? I can scarcely believe that. He has been cruelly insulting. I had hoped he would return to me, but our paths diverged long ago. I thought he was going to divorce me fourteen years ago. Isn't there some other reason?"

Sally spoke simply and sadly. "You will know when the time comes for the laudanum and morphine. You nursed the wounded during the war. You know the look of death."

It was starting to dawn on her what Sally, Rosemary and Rhett expected. Dr. Magruder had said as much the other morning. "It is your husband's wish to be spared this, so we agreed upon the heavy dose of laudanum and morphine. He tells me that you will stay with him. He trusts you to know when the time is right. Do you understand this? Can you accept this responsibility?" Those words took on a sinister new meaning. She looked directly at Sally, "I'm to be the one to decide when Rhett dies, is this what you mean?"

"You could put it that way. It is my understanding that by the time he needs heavy doses of narcotics, he will be beyond help." Sally's tone was gentle.

"But you all trust me to care that much about him?" Scarlett persisted in her line of inquiry.

"Yes, don't you?" Sally asked, surprised.

"Mother of Mercy!" Scarlett nearly shouted, "This is the man who left me twenty-seven years ago, saying I was a bull-headed child, who would always treasure glister over gold, and didn't really care to stay and see if I could change. While he would not visit the disgrace of divorce upon me, we never again lived together as husband and wife, despite my profession of love. He has kept me at arms length for years, as if I would taint his existence. For the better part of the last week he has tormented me. It seems to be a dramatic change of opinion, placing this trust in my hands."

"Oh, Scarlett, don't open old wounds now." Sally's voice was kind, kinder than Scarlett's words deserved.

"My sister, just this afternoon, was telling me that this was my chance to show Rhett how much I really cared for him, being here with him while he dies." Scarlett held her head in her hands, rubbing her scalp with her finger tips, trying to massage away the tension headache that was starting to grip her. "She said I would be a reflection of God's love for him." Scarlett looked directly into Sally's eyes with a passionate gaze filled with anger, "If I have to endure another week with that man like the one just passed, I might just plant a shiv in his heart while he sleeps and call it his comeuppance."

Sally wrinkled her brow in consternation and looked at Scarlett thinking she was not really getting through to her. Rhett was going to die one way or the other, the goal was to make the transition as easy as possible, not get drawn into old battles. "I realize how hard this must be for you. It was the same for Rosemary. She left because she couldn't take his moods and anger anymore. In the name of whatever love you once felt for each other, please stay. Rhett needs you. I'll call on you again in a few days, maybe you'll think differently." Sally patted Scarlett's shoulder. "I'll see myself to the door." Scarlett watched her go, and in her agitation, began to pace the length of the parlor. It was time she found out exactly what she meant to Rhett and why he wanted her here so badly.

Scarlett mounted the stairs slowly, her head pounding with each step. The sitting room was empty. She could hear Rhett and Joseph in the bedroom. She tapped softly on the door. Joseph held the door ajar, "I'm getting Captain Butler settled, I'll come get you when he is ready," and then the door shut. Scarlett retreated to the sitting room and sat next to the fire, staring, unseeing, at the flames.

"Maybe now is the time to take Carreen's advice and start praying," she thought. But if God hadn't heard Carreen's prayers for twenty-seven years, why would he suddenly be paying attention to Scarlett's? In the midst of her internal debate over Divine guidance, Joseph gestured for her to come into the bedroom.

Rhett lay back, propped up on four pillows. He gestured to Scarlett to take a seat in the chair next to the bed. He seemed more relaxed this evening. Sally's visit must have put him in a better mood.

"What's the matter, Scarlett? You look upset," he said, then closed his eyes.

"This is all wrong. Why didn't you call for me years ago? I waited, I never gave up. My family thought I had lost my mind. I made a good life, Rhett. We could have shared it. I loved you. I wanted to be with you in life, not watch you die."

He opened his eyes, and looked at her. "I'm sorry, Scarlett. I understand what you wanted, but you must try to understand me as well. For the last ten years I have been plagued with physical infirmities, my health failing. I've been alone for a long time, as have you. After Rosemary left, I realized I needed someone to be here with me, and I thought of you. You're still my wife. You said you loved me once, and so I'm placing my trust in you. Please don't push me away again."

"But do you have any love left for me?" she pleaded. There had to be more to his desire to have her here than just being available to drug him before he died.

"Let it be," he said with tired resignation. "What difference can it make to us now?"

Yet, Scarlett persisted, "Is it the Frenchwoman? Do you still love her?"

"Good God, no!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "It's this complicated, yet this simple: I am going to die soon."

"I want to help you, but I need to know what I mean to you. Otherwise, I'm just sparing Sally and Rosemary some sort of odious duty to you." She spoke with stubborn tenacity, hoping to pry a confession of love from him, to no avail.

Rhett sighed heavily. "I loved you, Scarlett. I never felt for anyone else what I felt for you, if that helps you understand."

"No!" she cried, her voice rising in frustration. "You're talking about the past. I am talking about right now, tonight."

"When you came, you said you would stay because you cared about me. If that's true, if you care at all, please, just be here with me. Don't ask for anything more." His voice dropped weakly, and he said, "I have nothing to give."

They looked at each other for what seemed an eternity to Scarlett. Rhett averted his gaze first, closed his eyes and shaking his head, sighed, "I can't do this; I need to rest." Scarlett understood that meant she was to go.

She left without saying another word. Her heart was leaden with the pain of the unmet emotional need of nearly all her adult years, the years she spent alone. She asked herself, "If this is all I mean to him, can I accept it?" It seemed that she must accept, if she were going to honor her word and stay. She took a deep breath and prepared to tote another weary load as she fought the urge to find some brandy.

***

After Scarlett left, Rhett wondered what he could have said to make her understand. In truth, he had a lingering affection for her, but not love. Years ago, out of grief and bitterness, he had stifled any feelings of love that once existed. Yet, they were still tied together as husband and wife. Why he hadn't filed divorce papers in 1886, he couldn't honestly say. Perhaps what stopped him was the last vestige of his old passion for the woman. This December night in 1900 he was incapable of passion as he clung stubbornly to life. He wanted peace, comfort and some affection. If Scarlett still had any feelings for him, surely she could just be present in the moment without demanding more. Trying to figure out how to make her understand was an enduring puzzle.

His life's journey in the last ten years was fraught with physical challenges and emotional pain. It defined who he was at this moment, and what he really wanted as he lay dying. His downfall began in August of 1890.


	12. Chapter 12

**The usual disclaimer applies. I do not own GWTW or any of its characters. A/N Thanks to all reviewers, especially my cheering section, MW & Kerstin! To all the Rhett-lovers, please don't hate me! I'm only telling a story, and sometimes bad things happen to wickedly sexy people!**

August, 1890

His salon had been a success, although earlier in the day Rhett wouldn't have predicted that outcome. The guest list fit the usual pattern, several wealthy American expatriates and a few French artists, invited for dinner and entertainment. The dinner, however, had nearly been ruined.

Rhett had gone riding in the Bois de Boulogne in the morning, and when he returned to his home in the early afternoon, he heard a hideous caterwauling coming from the kitchen. Moving swiftly, he went to investigate, and found Céline beating the scullery maid with a long-handled, wooden stirring spoon. He commanded her to stop immediately, and demanded an explanation for this violence. Céline glared at the scullery maid, while the cook, who had been cowering in the corner, came forward to explain to her master that the scullery maid had accidentally let the roast they were preparing for this evening's dinner burn.

Céline then burst into the conversation, vociferously defending her actions. "You have no idea how much that roast cost! I had to haggle with that thief of a butcher for twenty minutes to get him down to a reasonable price! Such waste!"

With that she made a motion to strike the scullery maid again, but Rhett caught her arm. "Stop, immediately! You will not mistreat my staff! Is that understood?" He threw down her arm, and turned to the scullery maid, gave her ten francs, and told her she was dismissed. She took the money and scurried from the kitchen, looking fearfully over her shoulder as she went. Rhett then ordered the cook to go to the market and purchase some fish for poaching to serve to the salon guests.

"But we will have no meat dish!" Céline cried. She carefully planned the menus for these events and this unexpected substitution would necessitate a last minute change in the wine list, and require a sorbet be served as well.

Rhett shot her a menacing look meant to silence her. Addressing the cook, who was preparing to leave, he requested that she salvage whatever she could of the burnt roast when she returned. Then, he roughly grabbed Céline's arm and shoved her out of the kitchen, propelled her into his study, and forced her to sit. He had never struck a woman before, but at the moment he was so angry he was tempted to take the wooden spoon and lay it across Céline's delightfully round derrière.

"What you did was inexcusable! I will not tolerate this behavior in my house, do you understand?"

"So you would rather have your servants take advantage of you?" Céline retorted hotly.

Beating the poor scullery maid was just another example of Céline's tendency to be cruel. All of Rhett's staff feared her wrath, with good reason. This wasn't the first time she had beaten one of the servants, it was merely the first time Rhett had caught her in the act. Clever and cunning, she knew Rhett would find this sort of punishment unacceptable, so when he was at home, she was careful to behave accordingly.

"This is my household and I will run it as I see fit. You will restrain yourself, or, I warn you, next time you will find yourself on the receiving end of a sound beating!"

"I'm sure you'd find that exciting," she said, with equal measures of sarcasm and suggestiveness.

"At the moment it would give me a degree of satisfaction," he noted dryly. Continuing, he said, "I understand this will mean certain changes in the order of the meal. If you need to make some last minute purchases, you'd better be quick about it. We don't have much time left before our guests arrive." He wanted to smooth over the situation as Céline's cooperation was necessary to ensure the evening went well.

They stared at each other as she rose from the chair, and brushed up against Rhett. She lingered for a moment, lightly running a finger over his jaw line and across his lips, saying, "As you wish, chéri. Anything to please you."

Never taking his eyes off her face, he slapped her soundly on the buttocks as she passed. The tension of the moment now broken, he watched her as she left, laughing, to go about the task of preparing for the salon. As she walked down the hall, her laughter dissolved into a deep paroxysmal cough.

Four years ago, Rhett quit his rooms in the Grand Hotel, and rented a flat off of one of the grand boulevards in the eighth arrondissement. His apartment occupied the second and third floors in an elegant new building with high ceilings and tall casement windows opening onto balconies overlooking the Rue des Courcelles between the Boulevard Haussmann and the Parc Monceau. Two large rooms on the second floor served as his gallery. He now had in his possession nearly two hundred paintings, mostly Impressionists' works. He would host salons, inviting other expatriate Americans and rich art collectors, as well as the artists whose work he preferred. The entertainment could be lavish. Sometimes a string quartet would play in the gallery while the gathered guests dined. Sometimes a poet would recite his latest work, or a vocalist might sing arias from one of the popular operas by Verdi or Wagner. Céline handled hostess duties impeccably, overseeing the preparation of food, arranging flowers, and hiring musicians; she could even play the piano and sing, and was a witty and engaging conversationalist. Guests prized an invitation to Rhett's salon, in part due to her efforts.

None of this evening's invitees seemed to notice anything amiss with the preparation or presentation of the food. After the meal, before the entertainment, Rhett circulated among his guests, who were admiring the art work in his gallery, and encouraged them to invest in Impressionist art. Monet was particularly popular with the wealthy foreigners Rhett invited. Four paintings were purchased this evening and several more were under consideration. This was especially noteworthy since it was August, the month when all true Parisians left the city.

Rhett sat, leaning back in his chair, pulled up to the open French doors of his bedroom, his long legs stretched out, his feet propped on the low wrought-iron railing of the shallow balcony. He couldn't sleep, so he sat here on this hot August night to catch any stray cooling breeze, while he smoked a cigar and enjoyed a brandy. He blew smoke rings which lazily floated out over the slate roof tops of the sleeping city.

Paris, city of lights, cultural capital of Europe, if not the world, was an intoxicating environment. Before he left Atlanta, Rhett told Scarlett that he sought a place where he could lead a life of gracious gentility and respectability. Certainly Charleston still held to the old social ways. Yet, he discovered that while the roots of his family tree went deep, the branch he occupied had been ruthlessly pruned away many years before, and the edict banning him from polite society still held. Though war and Reconstruction changed the face of Charleston radically, society's standards never wavered or changed, despite the fact that formerly wealthy society doyens now presided over threadbare parlors. So, he moved on, and to the extent that the life he sought still existed in the world, he found a semblance of it in London. Money and a few carefully targeted letters of introduction went a long way toward gaining him entry into British upper class society. In Paris, however, he found that the combination of gentility and a gracious haute bourgeoisie lifestyle could merge harmoniously with libertine tendencies.

Pleasure defined his life in Paris. For a man with money any form of it was obtainable, and out of all of them, Céline was the most expensive. Her livelihood depended on his continued pleasure, so she made it her business to know everything about him necessary to ensure it. She knew which tobacconist carried his favorite Cuban cigars, where to purchase his brandy and the most recent English language periodicals, what foods he most enjoyed, which laundry did the best job with his shirts and suits, and which tailor he favored. Most importantly, as he aged, she still knew exactly how to excite him. The razor's edge of his desire had dulled a little, and she was sensitive to the changes. To her, his body was a finely-tuned instrument and she was the maestro at work. Her dedication to his pleasure knew no limits.

Yet, Céline did not know his heart, the heart he told Scarlett he would not risk again. Of course, it is not possible to risk what is not there. When Bonnie died she not only took any small chance he might have had to be happy with Scarlett, she took his heart, too. There was emptiness at his core. He protected himself by remaining aloof, impervious to deeply felt emotion. He buried his feelings deep within. It had been so long since he felt his heart stir out of love that Rhett doubted even he would know it anymore. Only one person had managed to breach his defenses, Ella's little son, Michael Connelly.

While his life was filled with activity, most of it was frivolous. He was getting tired, and wanted to slow down, after all, he was nearly sixty-two years old, the age at which a man wanted to relax and reflect, surrounded by a doting family. Ella and her family came closest to fulfilling that need. Twice a year Rhett spent time with them in New York, and they welcomed him as mon beau-père (my stepfather). He enjoyed taking Michael to Central Park, where they could ride the carousel, fly a kite, or visit the zoo. The pure joy of holding a small, wiggling child in his lap as that child hugged and kissed him was worth more than any painting or financial holding in his portfolio. For Michael's second birthday, Rhett had given him a large model sailboat, brought from Paris, to float on the lake in the park. They played with abandon; it was the one form of pleasure his life in Europe lacked.

Michael was the brightest spot in Rhett's trips to the States. He didn't like going to Charleston to see his own family. His mother was long gone; his brother had died as well. He had a stiff relationship with his sister-in-law and her son, the Butler scion--a fact his sister-in-law didn't let him forget. Rosemary, now married to a professor of physics and chemistry at Duke University, was another story. Professor William Bichner, a humorless pedant, irritated Rhett. Within hours of arriving he was ready to leave. Rosemary seemed happy, that was all that mattered. At times he felt as though they all looked at him wondering when he would die so they could carve up his estate. The only person who did not regard Rhett as a walking potential windfall was Ella. He planned to visit New York again in the late fall. It crossed his mind he must write her.

Rhett thought about what he needed to do in the morning to prepare for his departure. Foremost on his mind was what to tell Céline. After the salon, he sent her home. She had been coughing throughout the evening and he thought she might rest more soundly in her own bed. He had been gone six months the last time he left Paris. Céline found this to be an intolerable state of affairs, and had argued vehemently when he announced his departure. When it became clear she could not sway Rhett, Céline told him if he left, he need never return to her, and she threatened to find a new lover. Yet, when he returned, she was there waiting for him. She would be hard pressed to find a new lover who could match Rhett in generosity and they both knew it, however the damage was done and he no longer trusted her. He assumed that this leave taking would be no different. In a way, it didn't matter, if Céline was through with him, he was growing weary of her as well. He no longer wanted to live with his guard up, wary of his capricious mistress and her cruelty

Business was waiting for him in London and Rhett felt it imperative to go back there for a few months at least, most likely much longer. Once those obligations were satisfied, then, he would set sail for New York, staying in the States for an unspecified period of time. Even though he enjoyed his life in Paris and felt at ease among the French, there were times when he was acutely aware that he was a foreigner here. At those times, he longed to hear English spoken in a soft southern drawl.

Rhett flicked the cigar stub out the window, beyond the balcony, where it dropped to the street, and rose from his chair. If he had any hope of catching the morning train for Dieppe, and from there the ferry to Newhaven, connecting to the train for London, he would need to get some rest.

***

The morning after his arrival in London, Rhett awoke with a headache unlike any other. It felt as though the back of his head was being split open with a hatchet. Dismissing it as the stress of travel, he rang for his valet and asked that coffee be brought to his study. There was much correspondence piled up on his desk and he decided to plunge in this morning. His limbs felt heavy as he slowly dressed. Descending the stairs, he noted with alarm his vision doubling. His left side began to feel as though it had fallen asleep, his arm and leg became numb and tingled. Four risers from the bottom of the stairs, as he put his left foot down, his leg buckled and he fell to the floor. The young maid bearing his coffee on a silver tray, upon seeing her master crumpled at the foot of the stairs, screamed and dropped the tray laden with pot, cup, creamer, sugar, two freshly baked scones and pots of clotted cream and jam. Food and coffee splattered the walls. Running to Rhett's side, she called for help from other members of the household staff.

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked breathlessly.

Rhett couldn't properly form words. His speech was slurred. "Help me." He repeated it over and over.

His valet, the housekeeper and another maid converged at the foot of the stairs, grilling the unfortunate maid, demanding to know if dropping the tray had caused the master to fall. The housekeeper dispatched another one of the maids to get a pillow, while the valet rang up Rhett's physician. They tried to make him comfortable pending the physician's arrival.

Rhett swallowed hard and blinked as the number of household staff members doubled, then returned to the number of those present. The valet tried to reassure him that everything would be fine, but the looks of concern on all the faces of those hovering over him, belied that reassurance. When the physician arrived, he insisted that Rhett be taken to hospital immediately. When Rhett heard the words "likely cerebral apoplexy," he began to feel a rising tide of panic. "My God," he thought, "I'm going to die."

At some point on the brief journey to St. George's Hospital, Rhett lost consciousness. His next hazy recollection of his attack came the next day. As though a filmy curtain was slowly being pulled away from a window, his conscious awareness of the room in which he lay began to come into focus. He scanned the room, unable to make sense of the images. Voices floated in from the next room. He could discern an East End cockney accent. "London, I am in London," he thought. That reassured him, he made it back from Paris. He then moved his limbs. His left side felt as though it were weighted with lead; he could barely move it. He felt pain in the back of his head. Reaching to touch the spot, he felt a bulky bandage. He tried to call out, but instead of the word "hello," he emitted a guttural moan. A young nurse appeared at his bedside, and was surprised to see him awake.

"Good morning, sir. Can you tell me where you are?" She smiled earnestly, expecting an answer.

Rhett stared at her. Her question echoed in his head, he couldn't say. He finally said the only thing he knew for certain, "London."

His speech was still slurred, but the young woman could make out the response. "Yes, indeed, you are in London. You are in St. George's Hospital at Hyde Park Corner. You've been here since yesterday morning. I'm going to change your dressing. Can you roll onto your side? I'll help you." She gave a gentle push on his right shoulder and hip, as he reached with his right hand for the bed rail on the left. The effort left him exhausted. An older nursing sister came to observe the dressing change, and was pleased to note the patient had awakened. She told her charge, the young nurse, "We must begin exercising his limbs today, otherwise his joints may stiffen."

"Yes, ma'am." Skillfully, she bathed him, and then began to move his limbs, exercising all the joints of his hands, arms, legs and feet. She ended with a light body massage. She fetched a tray with some tea and gruel, sat him up and offered a sip of the tea. He swallowed and then coughed.

"Maybe you're not ready for food yet." She added with cheerful reassurance, "We'll try again later."

"Sleep," he mumbled. For several more days, though he reacted to his environment, he had no conscious awareness. Passing in and out of a foggy state, he remembered nothing.

However, Rhett did remember the day his physician appeared at his bedside with several medical students in tow. He listened, eager to glean information, as the doctor described his condition and the treatment up until that time. His blood pressure was elevated, his fever was down. A small hole had been drilled in the back of his skull, a craniotomy, to relieve pressure on the brain, and hopefully, lessen the impact of the attack, especially any visual changes. As his consciousness lightened, his ability to move improved. The nursing sisters kept exercising his limbs. Rhett's doctor described this regimen as retraining the brain. His speech was less slurred. This, the gathered physicians-in-training agreed, was a positive sign, perhaps a harbinger of full recovery of that faculty. Then they moved on to the patient in the next bed.

Five days after Rhett's apoplexy attack, since he was still alive and now fully conscious, the housekeeper decided that his family in America needed to be notified. She had some vague notion that he had a wife there, in addition to the sister and stepchildren of whom she had certain knowledge. She contacted Rhett's solicitor for advice. The solicitor would wire his sister and his stepchildren, but not his wife.

When Ella answered her front door, she was surprised to see a messenger bearing a telegram. She signed and tore open the envelope, fearing bad news. No one ever sent the Connellys a telegram. The message, sent by Rhett's solicitor, was brief and alarming. Rhett was in hospital in London having suffered an attack of cerebral apoplexy. Icy fingers of fear gripped her heart. When John arrived home from work, they discussed what she should do. Ella wanted to travel to her stricken stepfather's side, but the cost of a transatlantic passage was more than they could afford at this time. Turning to her mother for help would be out of the question, she expressed nothing but hostility toward Rhett since their last meeting in 1886. Perhaps Wade could help. She wired her brother, and his response was swift. He offered to pay for Ella's ticket, and would wire the money directly to whichever passenger line she chose. Had his wife not recently given birth to their first child, he would have joined Ella on the journey.

Three days later Ella was onboard ship accompanied by an Irish nursemaid, one of John's cousins from Boston on her way back to Ireland for a visit, and little Michael. Not knowing how long she would be away, Ella and John decided that it would be best for the child to go with her. When she arrived at Rhett's Mayfair home, the staff greeted her coolly, but was relieved that someone from the family would be present to care for him during what promised to be a long convalescence.

With trepidation, Ella made her first visit to the hospital the next day. There she found Rhett sitting in an invalid's chair in a garden adjacent to the ward. It was the first time in two and a half weeks he had seen the light of day. Hollow-eyed, he stared vacantly, still trying to make sense of the catastrophe which had befallen him; he could barely move his left arm and was too weak to stand. When he heard her address him as mon beau-père, he looked up, startled and confused. As she embraced him, his eyes filled with tears. When she pulled back, he clutched her hand, desperate to stay connected to her. She tried unsuccessfully to comfort him. Instead, his distress caused her to begin weeping as well. "I'm here, Ella's here. I'll take care of you. Things will be better. I promise. It's going to get better." Not knowing what to say, she offered any reassurance she could think of, short of promising the return of full health.

He spoke, softly and slowly, "Thank... you."

After consulting with Rhett's physician, Ella decided to bring Michael along on the next visit. The doctor was concerned about his patient's depression and believed that the child would lift his spirits. His assumption proved correct.

When Ella approached Rhett, who was again sitting in the garden, with Michael's little hand firmly clamped in her own to prevent the adventurous child from bolting, Rhett was smiling. She crouched down to whisper a few words in Michael's ear. "This is mon beau-père. Remember he came to see you for your birthday and gave you the big sailboat? We went to the park and rode the carousel. You remember, don't you, Michael?"

As she spoke, the child's eyes lit up in remembrance. He looked up at Rhett, and using a child's corrupted version of the French beau-père, called him Bopa. Rhett's eyes filled with tears. Ella gently placed her son on his lap, and Rhett hugged him, holding him close a little longer than was comfortable for Michael. He wriggled out of the embrace. "Can we go to the park here, Bopa? Do you have a park?"

Ella laughed. "You and I can go, Michael, but mon beau-père is not feeling well. When he is better we can go together." She handed Michael a piece of paper. "Show him your picture."

Michael proudly held up a picture only a two-year-old could draw, filled with color and scribbled shapes, but nothing recognizable.

"Tell him what you drew," Ella urged.

"Can't you tell, Mama? It's my boat!" Michael smiled with pride and handed the paper to Rhett whose tears flowed freely.

Ella stroked his cheek. "Please Uncle Rhett, please don't cry. We love you. We came to make you happy."

He closed his eyes and struggled to regain his emotional control. It was so hard. He had always prided himself on his gambler's habit of keeping his emotions close to the vest. Since this attack of apoplexy something as trivial as cold tea could trigger emotional distress. He squeezed Ella's hand, "Sorry. Can't... help... it." He spoke haltingly, but his words were understandable. His physician was pleased with the progress he'd made.

They sat together in the garden, watching the little boy as he ran in circles, looked for bugs, and asked many questions. After twenty minutes, Ella rose to go. She explained that the nursemaid had come with them to the hospital, and was waiting in the reception area in the front. Ella would take Michael back to her and then return for a longer visit. Rhett smiled. Ella held Michael up to Rhett's side and the little boy kissed his cheek. "Bye-bye, Bopa."

Rosemary came, too, two weeks after Ella's arrival. She filled Rosemary in on Rhett's condition and the treatment regimen, and confided her fear of bleak prospects for his complete recovery. While Rhett made progress, each gain came slowly, and the process proved to be extremely frustrating for a man used to controlling his own destiny. They took turns spending time with him at the hospital, encouraging him as he struggled to overcome the effects of the apoplectic stroke.

Rhett had begun to try standing. The apoplexy affected his proprioception and balance making it difficult for him to stand without support. He was learning the proper use of a cane to maintain his balance. His physician said he would need much physiotherapy before he could walk safely and efficiently for any distance. Because of Rhett's size, his physician felt it would not be wise to send him back home until someone capable of supporting his weight, able to lift him if he fell, were available.

Fortunately, an old comrade from his blockade running days had heard of his plight and came down to London from Liverpool. Tim Stinnett was now running a transatlantic shipping and passenger line. Rhett frequently used Stinnett's service to ship items to buyers in the States and on the European continent. He came to visit Rhett accompanied by a young, black man named Joseph Henry. Joseph had been a stevedore on the Liverpool docks when he went to work for Stinnett. Tim discovered that Joseph could cook, had good manners and had worked for a brief time as butler in Nassau. He put Joseph to work as a cabin steward on one of his passenger ships. Because Joseph was almost as tall as Rhett, muscular and young, Tim Stinnett thought he would be the perfect manservant for Rhett during his convalescence. Rhett thanked Tim for his concern and welcomed Joseph Henry to his household staff.

However, before Rhett could begin the work of convalescence, he had to recover from a low-grade fever. When jaundice developed his physician diagnosed hepatitis, most likely acquired in hospital. This setback caused more depression. Rosemary and Ella tried to remain as optimistic as possible in an effort to buoy Rhett's spirits, to no avail. He despaired of ever being healthy again.

After ten weeks in hospital Rhett's physician decided that he was getting along well enough to return to his home. Rosemary and Ella made the homecoming as joyful as possible. Rhett was happy to be able to spend time with little Michael, and sleep in his own bed. In those first weeks at home, Joseph never left his side. He carried out the treatment that the physiotherapist taught him, and encouraged Rhett to move about as much as possible. He made himself invisible when his presence was not needed, but he was always there when he was needed. Joseph was intelligent enough to see Rhett's moods for what they often were, residual effects of the cerebral apoplexy, and distract or cajole him when he was out of sorts. Rhett came to depend on Joseph as he had on no other servant in the past, and Joseph understood Rhett as no servant had ever before been able. Thanks, in part, to Joseph's persistent prodding, Rhett gained strength, and developed a more fluid and steady gait.

Ella liked to take Michael to Hyde Park in the mornings for some exercise. As he got stronger, Rhett began to accompany them, and he would walk a short distance, then rest for a bit before continuing. One morning, as they sat on a bench, watching Michael rolling and trying to kick a big, red ball, Rhett asked Ella how her mother was doing. Not too many things shook Ella's composure, but this question did, and she startled visibly.

Rhett laughed, "Am I not supposed to acknowledge she exists?"

Ella blushed and stuttered, "N-no, not at all. It's just that she... Well, the last time she saw you... It's awkward, that's all." She wished she hadn't mentioned their last meeting in Kentucky, and didn't know how to broach the subject of the divorce papers that never came. The uncertainty of this aggravated Scarlett more than anything else.

"I regret any distress I caused her that night," he said haltingly, running his hand back and forth over the handle of his cane. "I have thought about her frequently these last few weeks. Reflecting on mortality gives one pause for thought about past errors."

Ella nodded her head, and gave Rhett a sidelong glance, before refocusing her attention on Michael. "She's still angry, you know."

"Four years later!" Rhett shook his head. "That sounds like her," he mused. "Please give her my regards when you see her next."

Ella opened her mouth and started to say that she never mentioned Rhett to her mother for fear of her reaction, but decided to keep that comment to herself. "Of course," she murmured, feeling as though she was practicing deception by not verbalizing her reservations. She called out to Michael who had started to run toward a group of children nearby. When he did not respond, Ella sprang from the bench and ran after him, while Rhett watched. When she fetched Michael back, Rhett rose to his feet with care, and they continued their walk.

In the carriage, on the way back to his house, Rhett held Michael in his lap and tickled him until he squealed and writhed. Ella watched, smiling, and wished it were possible for her parents to reconcile. Loving them both, she hated the feeling of divided loyalties provoked by their rift.

Rhett had now reached a point in his convalescence where Ella felt comfortable leaving. Rosemary had already returned home. He was doing remarkably well according to his physician, so she bid her stepfather good-bye, and made him promise he would come to New York as soon as possible, and stay as long as he liked. With tears of gratitude shining in his eyes, Rhett agreed he would come for a visit. He would miss Michael terribly. It seemed the only positive aspect of his illness was spending this time with the little boy.

By the spring, Rhett's physician thought it was possible for him to travel to France, as long as Joseph never left his side. Servant and master eyed one another warily. Joseph broke into a broad smile. "Captain Butler will never be out of my sight."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Rhett sighed. His life had come to this; he was the ward of an insolent servant. Whatever the conditions set forth by the doctor, he would obey; he was eager to go back to Paris.

**Again, apologies to all Rhett-lovers for any trauma caused by this chapter. Next chapter, Céline gets her due!  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**The usual disclaimer applies, I do not own GWTW or its characters. **

April, 1891

During his hospitalization, Durand-Ruel had contacted Rhett's solicitor in London to negotiate a contract for the purchase of a Sisley painting from Rhett's Paris collection. The solicitor wrote back apprising the art dealer of Rhett's situation. From that communication, it seemed that every artist in Paris who was on intimate terms with Durand-Ruel heard about Rhett's health. When Rhett wired the concierge at his Paris apartment to prepare for his arrival, word went out that he was returning.

His day-to-day struggle to regain strength and mobility on his weakened left side consumed him, so much so that Rhett had forgotten about Céline and her old threat. Now he wondered if she would be true to her word. In his current state of physical debilitation being with a woman crossed his mind less often than usual. Once he thought about seeing Céline again, he became anxious, anticipating what her reaction might be. He was not prepared for what he was about to learn.

When the concierge at his building greeted him, he expressed his sorrow over, "What happened to Mademoiselle Céline."

Rhett shook his head, uncomprehendingly, "What do you mean? What happened?"

Realizing, from the look on his face, that Rhett must not have had any knowledge of Céline's illness, the man patted Rhett's arm solicitously, "Please sit, Monsieur Butler. I must tell you a sad story." He then told Rhett that Céline had contracted consumption. Rhett recalled that she had a nagging cough for many months. "Yes," the concierge told him, "a bad cough. She came by the building periodically to see if you had returned. She looked worse each time I saw her, poor thing. Then I noticed she was," he paused, glancing at Rhett, "she was with child."

"Indeed?" Rhett was shocked; he had always taken precautions to avoid conception. Then a black thought crossed his mind: Céline always threatened to find another lover, maybe she had.

"I know what I saw, monsieur," the concierge sniffed; he was offended that Monsieur Butler would question his veracity.

"Please, continue." Rhett studied the man intently. Since the cerebral apoplexy, he gave in too easily to emotion. Gripping his cane so tightly his knuckles turned white, he now struggled to control himself.

"The baby came early and was born dead." The concierge spoke quietly, and peered uncertainly at Rhett, looking for his reaction.

Rhett took a deep breath, and tensed up.

The concierge shook his head, "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you these things, monsieur."

Rhett shook his head, "Please, continue." A muscle twitched in his jaw, as he focused his stare on a spot on the far wall in order to maintain his composure.

"Mademoiselle Céline left Paris shortly after that. She went to a sanitarium in Switzerland for treatment of the consumption."

"Is she there now?" Rhett wanted to ask her point blank who fathered the child.

"Oh, monsieur," the man's mournful expression presaged his words, as he again patted Rhett's arm, "we heard that she died last month."

Too stunned to speak, Rhett buried his face in his hands, with a groan.

"I am sorry monsieur. Truly, I am." The concierge gestured to Joseph.

Joseph took Rhett's left arm and hoisted him to a standing position. "We must go upstairs now, Captain Butler."

Once inside the apartment, Rhett, overcome with emotion, collapsed on his bed.

The next day, he went to the place where Céline had lived on the Boulevard Haussmann. The concierge there greeted him warmly, and also expressed his condolences.

Rhett came seeking answers, not sympathy, "Do you know which physician treated her?"

"But of course, Monsieur Butler. He came here many times."

"Please, write down his address for me." Rhett then took the piece of paper with the address and went around to the physician's office. Dr. Hervé was not surprised when Rhett introduced himself and explained what information he sought.

Shaking his head sadly, the physician pushed back his chair and removed his spectacles, rubbed his eyes and sighed. "She told me you would come, and that you would pay her bill."

"Forget the bill! It will be paid. What of the woman?" Rhett snapped, impatient to hear details about Céline's illness and the stillbirth.

Dr. Hervé told his story. He saw the unfortunate woman for the first time in early September. At that time, by his estimate, she was in her tenth week of pregnancy, but also quite ill with consumption. She was coughing up blood and losing weight, despite the fact that she was pregnant. The doctor expected her to miscarry at any time and was greatly surprised when she managed to carry the child thirty-two weeks. The girl was born dead.

Rhett interrupted the physician's tale, "A girl you say?" His head was spinning, frantically calculating the length of gestation and probable time of conception. Assuming his precautions had failed, this child could certainly have been his, if the physician's estimate was correct.

"Yes, monsieur, a perfectly formed baby girl. The woman named the child, and asked that she be buried in the Montmartre Cemetery." For the first time since he had entered his office, Dr. Hervé took a good look at Rhett. Clearly the man was disturbed by all that he was hearing, but there was something else the physician noticed, a slight droop to the left side of his face, barely noticeable, really, but still there. He must have suffered from apoplexy, the doctor thought.

"So she is there?" Rhett stared at the doctor with such intensity that Dr. Hervé feared he might have another attack.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"Under what name?"

"Mathilde Durocher Butler." Dr. Hervé held his hands at chest level, the fingers spread with the tips touching, nervously tapped his fingertips together. "She is your child?"

Rhett nodded grimly. It was possible, he thought, though he still doubted.

"I am sorry, Monsieur Butler. There was nothing anyone could have done for the mother or her child." The doctor held Rhett's gaze for a moment to make sure he understood. Then he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled his bill out, placed it on the desk in front of Rhett, and nodded to him. The sooner this unpleasant interview ended, the happier Dr. Hervé would be.

That evening Rhett sat in his gallery, surrounded by works of breathtaking beauty, paintings expressing the joy of life, the glory of nature and the vitality of Paris. Usually sitting amidst these works of genius inspired feelings of peace, contentment and awe, but tonight he might just as well have been sitting in a cave for he observed none of it. He asked Joseph to bring him his humidor, an ashtray, a decanter of brandy and a glass. Joseph protested that smoking and drinking were contrary to his doctor's orders, but Rhett insisted.

"My doctor is not here. You can find employment elsewhere if you choose not to comply," Rhett replied in a surly growl.

When Joseph returned with the requested items, he offered to turn on the electric lights. Instead, Rhett wanted a kerosene lamp, flame turned down low, placed on a small table in a far corner of the room, adequate light to see well-enough to pour a drink. Joseph lingered, but Rhett dismissed him.

"If I need anything, I'll ring." Then he lit a cigar, poured his first drink and began to ruminate on all that he had been told. Céline's perfidy angered him. She manipulated him shamelessly; had she not died, he'd now be tempted to seek her out, and strangle her. She knew she was pregnant before he left Paris last August, and neither told him, nor made any attempt to contact him in London. Perhaps she was counting on his trip lasting long enough that she could place the infant in a foundling home after her birth so that he would never know she existed. There was also the possibility that the child wasn't even his, he thought bitterly. Would he have left if he had known? Would it have made a difference in the way events unfolded? He admitted to himself that staying would have changed nothing. Most likely he would still have experienced the cerebral apoplexy; Céline and little Mathilde would still have died. Only he would have seen Mathilde, known what she looked like, had a chance to touch her. Would that have been better or worse? At the lowest point of his life, after Bonnie died, he thought he had lost everything; yet, now he was totally bereft, stripped, in both body and soul. Physically, he was a shell of his former self, and emotionally, the modest gains he'd made to find a satisfying life, if not a little affection, had been destroyed.

The emotional wound went deep. His children were all dead, two having never left the womb alive. At least no one could say he had anything to do with the death of this child. He began to think it was a curse imposed by his father. The stern old taskmaster had disowned him, stricken his name from the family Bible as though he never existed, and by extension any of his issue must also not exist. Neither Rhett nor his children would besmirch the Butler name. Overwhelmed with grief, he cried for his lost daughters. Bonnie. Mathilde. The pain of his loss was so acute it was almost physical, like a blow to the groin, like losing Bonnie for a second time. The grief he felt for his first-born nearly destroyed him, and when, after many months, it no longer filled his every waking hour, he stuffed it down deep within himself, into a place he never consciously explored. This stunning news about Céline's child ripped open that secret place and exposed the pain which threatened to consume him anew.

He began to drink in earnest. As the shadows lengthened and the room became darker, Rhett could hear Joseph walk into the gallery.

"Go!" he barked, "I said I would call if I needed you." Joseph withdrew without saying a word.

During the course of the evening, he smoked three cigars, contravening his doctor's strict order to give them up, and drank nearly the whole bottle of brandy. Joseph paced uneasily outside the gallery, anticipating Rhett's call. At midnight, he entered the dimly lit room. By this time Rhett was nearly insensate. Joseph half dragged, half carried him to bed.

In the morning a message came from Degas inviting Rhett to join him for lunch at the Café de la Nouvelle-Athènes. Rhett sent word back he would be there.

Joseph accompanied Rhett to the café. They arrived early, and when Degas joined them, Rhett offered Joseph ten francs and told him to go flirt with the barmaid.

"But Captain Butler, I don't speak French," he protested. After the previous evening, Joseph was loath to leave Rhett alone in a bar.

Rhett attempted to dismiss Joseph, telling him, "Love is a universal language, she won't care. Besides she likes African men."

"I am not African." Joseph remained impassive. He had his duty to his master to consider, even as that master worked furiously to send him off.

"No, but you are as black as the ace of spades, young and handsome. She'll enjoy the attention. Go!" As he spoke, he prodded Joseph with his cane. He wanted to speak to Degas in private.

When Joseph realized he was sure to lose yet another battle of wills, he nodded and reluctantly sauntered off to the bar, where the barmaid gave him her most enticing smile with a coquettish toss of the head.

Degas addressed his old patron, "So you are back in Paris. Will you stay?"

"I haven't decided yet, old man." He shook his head, and took a sip of his wine. "I need a favor from you."

"If it is in my power, I would be happy to oblige." Degas observed Rhett with a critical eye. He looked like he had aged since being stricken with apoplexy; his proud bearing and the slight air of arrogance that characterized him were gone, he looked beaten.

Rhett had been watching Joseph and the barmaid, somewhat enviously. He then turned his attention to the aging artist, "The child, Céline's child, I'm told was buried in the Montmartre Cemetery. I must see where."

Degas shook his head in mournful affirmation of the loss. "A very sad affair, you have my sympathy."

Rhett stared at Degas, wondering if the artist knew anything about Céline's deception. He didn't need Degas' sympathy, he needed his assistance. "Can you help me?"

"You pick a nearly blind man to help you find an infant's grave? What are you thinking?" Degas asked incredulously.

Yet, Rhett persisted. He knew what he needed to do to gain some closure on this painful episode. "You can see well enough, besides you know Montmartre like the back of your hand. Will you help me?"

Degas shrugged. "I suppose."

"Good, we'll go after lunch."

***

When Degas introduced Rhett to Céline, he had no idea how depraved she could be. In later years, he wondered if Rhett knew. This unfortunate incident, the stillbirth of Rhett's child unbeknownst to him, seemed to be typical of her.

Degas first met Céline at the Opéra. She was one of the _petits rats_, the little ballerinas in-training, that Degas loved to paint. Her mother had died of consumption, compounded by slow starvation, during the Franco-Prussian War, and left little Céline in the custody of an old courtesan. The old courtesan had been a favorite in the court of Napoleon III many years earlier, when she was still beautiful; she saw in Céline the potential to become an outstanding practitioner of the arts of the courtesan, and taught her accordingly.

Backstage at the Opéra, men of privilege prowled in search of young lovers among the members of the dance corps. The old courtesan knew this was the perfect place for Céline to find a rich, powerful patron. It was there that she met the German baron. Degas felt sorry for the girl. It was obvious to him that she was being used by the old courtesan, yet, there appeared to be no way out of this way of life for her.

He invited her to pose nude for him at his studio when she was sixteen years old. Céline was eager to better herself in any way possible, so she agreed. The old courtesan encouraged her to seduce Degas. Degas, however, was a man of great internal contradictions, especially where women were concerned. He loved them, and he painted them in such a way that his love was evident, yet, as far as anyone knew, even his closest associates, he never bedded a woman. When the teenage Céline started practicing the seductive patter she learned from the old courtesan, Degas ordered her to be quiet. He couldn't abide a model who talked. While taking a break, she began to caress the artist. Without missing a beat, he threw off her embrace, picked up her clothes, and tossed them out the door, pushing Céline out after them, as he berated her for her actions.

"Mademoiselle, I do not seduce my models. If you are seeking a lover, go see Manet!" Then he slammed the door shut behind her.

Céline would not forget this slight, so she maintained a cordial relationship with Degas until such time as she could exact her revenge. Under Rhett's patronage, she found her opportunity to insult the eccentric artist. At one of Rhett's salons, which Degas had attended with Mary Cassatt, Céline sidled up to him as he and Cassatt were about to leave, and discreetly asked him, behind her upheld fan, if he found greater satisfaction with Mademoiselle Cassatt than he had with her. Degas said he found Céline to be unsatisfactory as a model, and hoped his friend, Monsieur Butler, had better success molding her behavior to his liking. Céline was quick to reply that Monsieur Butler found her to be more than satisfactory in every respect. She then stole a quick glance at Cassatt, and asked Degas, pointedly, could Mademoiselle Cassatt say the same. It seemed there was some talk going around that Degas was impotent. Degas told her he wasn't in the habit of indulging in vicious gossip, and wasn't it a shame the same couldn't be said about the hostess. With that he left, Céline's laughter echoing in his ears. Degas never attended another salon at Rhett's house.

***

Their meal concluded, Rhett and Degas took a cab to the cemetery, where they had to descend a steep hill to get to the spot where Mathilde lay. Degas carried a single pink rose to place on the grave, and took Rhett's left arm supportively, as Rhett led the artist down the winding path.

"It is like we make one complete man, you and I. You can see and I can walk," Degas remarked.

Rhett grunted in acknowledgment. The strenuous effort of walking down the hill caused him to become breathless. His usual slow pace became slower still; he turned pale and broke into a light sweat. "I need to sit and rest." They sat on a bench for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the April sunshine.

"Better, old man?" Degas inquired.

"I could use Joseph's help," he panted, somewhat breathlessly.

"You sent him off. I dare say he and the barmaid are having a much better time than we are right now," Degas remarked sarcastically.

"Of course they are." Rhett eyed Degas, and possessed by a wicked impulse, needled him, "I'm no sodomite, I'm not so sure about you."

A hint of a smile started to play around Degas' mouth, as he returned the jibe. "You are a handsome old man, Butler. Don't think I haven't noticed! But alas, you are not to my taste, either."

They both guffawed.

"Come along now. Let's get moving." With that Degas helped Rhett to his feet, and they walked on to the grave. Degas placed the rose on the ground and Rhett poked the spot with his cane. The only thing which distinguished the site was a simple marker with the name: Mathilde Durocher Butler.

"I should have been here," Rhett muttered.

"I came in your stead," Degas said quietly.

Rhett regarded him with surprise. "You? Why?"

"Durand-Ruel had gotten word that you were ill. Those of us who were close to you found out through him." Degas shrugged, "I introduced you to Céline. I felt responsible." Degas, the old bear, could be grumpy and bitingly sarcastic, but this façade hid the tenderness of a shy man. He felt a kinship with Rhett, sharing the bond of American roots, for Degas' mother, Celestine Musson, had been born to a Creole family in New Orleans. Degas had cousins living there still. The two men had been surprised to discover the myriad ways in which Rhett had crossed paths with the Musson family in New Orleans, particularly through the family business, the Cotton Exchange.

"I owe you..." Rhett started to express his thanks.

Degas broke in, "Indeed you do—about thirty francs."

Rhett shook his head, smiling grimly; Degas could be such a curmudgeon. "Let's go."

When they returned to the café at Place Pigalle, Degas proposed they have a glass of absinthe to celebrate Céline's demise. Rhett protested, the stuff was not to his liking, but Degas insisted. After the second glass, Rhett began to appreciate the attraction this liquor had for its devotees. It did not take long for him to fall under the spell of la fée verte.


	14. Chapter 14

**The usual disclaimer applied, GWTW is the property of Margaret Mitchell and her heirs. **

**To all who've left unsigned reviews, thank you for your kind words.  
**

Scarlett awoke with a start as the first rays of the morning sun began peeking through the slats of the shutters covering the windows in her room. After talking to Rhett the night before, she went to bed feeling morose and empty. Sleep eluded her as she tossed and turned, seeking refuge in its embrace from the conflicting emotions churning inside her. When she finally fell into a restless slumber, she had a particularly vivid dream, one which only served to deepen her inner turmoil.

She dreamed about Rhett. She saw him in the distance, across a broad meadow on a hillside. It looked like their favorite spot for picnics during the war. He looked young and healthy, just as he was in those years. He beckoned her to come to him, and she ran with open arms, overjoyed to see him. As she got closer, a carriage pulled into view, and Belle Watling and the Frenchwoman got out of it. She stopped and watched as they took Rhett by the arms and led him to the carriage. She could hear their derisive laughter as it rolled away. This dream served as a grim reminder of the humiliation she suffered when Rhett sought the company of other women, and had so disturbed Scarlett that it took a few minutes to orient herself to her surroundings upon awakening. In those few minutes, the realization slowly set in: she was in Charleston, Rhett was dying, and he had manipulated her into agreeing to stay with him, seemingly without giving her feelings any consideration. She had the sense that she had been conned by the master; it certainly wasn't the first time. The more Scarlett thought about it, the more irritated she became, and she jumped out of bed, already formulating her plans for the day.

"As long as I have to stay here and care for Rhett as a wife would, I might as well enjoy some of the benefits of acting the part," she thought. She decided to assert her influence on Rhett's household, whether he liked it or not. She had only brought enough clothing for a short visit. Today, she would remedy that situation by going to the nearest dress shop and purchasing some new ones. First, however, she would go to the market to buy flowers and food. The cook was unimaginative and prepared bland, unappealing meals. This had to change. Then, she would stop at the surgical supply house that Dr. Magruder recommended and purchase the invalid chair before beginning her other shopping. "I will not meekly submit," Scarlett thought stubbornly as she completed her toilette and prepared to dress for the busy morning ahead.

When she first saw Joseph, she instructed him to inform Captain Butler that his _wife_ would be making some purchases downtown, and that he should expect to receive the bills. She said the word wife with a spiteful edge, making Joseph wonder what caused the breach in their relationship. In the week gone by, the discord between them had been painfully obvious, and he deduced they had been apart for many years. Joseph knew his employer as a stubborn, strong-willed individual who could be vigorously outspoken in his lack of tolerance for deceit; yet, he could also be charming, kind, and exceptionally generous. He maintained a warm relationship with his step-daughter, the child of this wife, and was a doting grandfather to her children. Joseph knew about Captain Butler's daughter who'd died, and assumed that the little girl and her mother had met the same fate. It never occurred to him that she might still be alive.

Scarlett ignored Joseph's look of puzzlement, and went in search of the cook. She handed her a menu for the rest of the week and told her she was going to the market to purchase vegetables and meat for this evening's meal, and expected the cook to accompany her.

"But Miz Butler, Cap'n Butler cain't eat dis kine of food," protested Glory, the cook. Glory could read and slowly went over the menu with a skeptical eye. Dr. Magruder had given her stringent guidelines for the captain's diet, and nothing on this menu conformed to them.

"No, he can't, but I can. This is what I expect to be served for the rest of the week. Is that understood?" Scarlett gave Glory a hard, questioning look, indicating she would tolerate no dissent.

Glory wasn't about to get into an argument with her employer's wife. She nodded in deference to her better, and went to get a cloak and a market basket.

They went to the market, accompanied by Ezekiel, Glory's thirteen-year-old son, who was also a member of the household staff. The marketplace teemed with activity as seemingly all of Charleston was here this Monday morning. Glory and Ezekiel maneuvered through the crowded aisles with practiced ease, and quickly accomplished their task. Glory impressed Scarlett with her ability to bargain with the vendors, and Scarlett was quite satisfied with her purchases. After selecting several large bouquets, she sent Glory and Ezekiel back to the house with the food and flowers.

Scarlett then stopped for coffee and a sweet roll. At the bakery counter she thought she heard someone call her name, but that couldn't be. No one knew her here. She scanned the crowded market place and thought she saw Sally Brewton. "That would certainly ruin my peace this morning," she thought irritably, as she quickly turned her head to avoid being recognized.

As Scarlett sat down to enjoy her breakfast, Sally suddenly appeared, exuding warmth and cheer, and joined her at the small table. "Good morning, Scarlett. You're looking well. Did you pass a good night?"

"Morning," Scarlett muttered. "No, I didn't." she replied flatly. "And you Sally?" Scarlett gave her a forced smile and nodded, hoping she would just go away.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'm doing well enough, thanks." Sally's smile faded away, as she leaned in toward Scarlett and asked, "Did you have a chance to think about our conversation?"

Scarlett went rigid with tension, and wanted to rudely tell Sally to go away. "It plagued my sleep," she replied caustically, thinking back to the dream which caused her such distress. "But I'm here, and there is work to do," she added.

"Is that how you look at it? Work to do?" Sally gazed quizzically at Scarlett.

"In a sense, yes. This is my last duty as a wife, albeit an estranged one. I'll stay and do what needs to be done." The thought was none too pleasing to Scarlett, but the die was cast. Knowing what she was expected to do gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it was difficult for her to see how any good could come of it.

The determined look on Scarlett's face reassured Sally. "Good girl!" She clapped Scarlett on the back so hard that she almost spit her coffee out. Seeing this, Sally started to laugh and Scarlett couldn't help but smile as well.

She was in no mood for polite chit-chat, and quietly finished her meal while Sally cheerfully prattled on, relieved that Scarlett would stay. When Scarlett rose to leave, Sally stood, too, and embraced her lightly. "I'd still like to come by to visit," she said.

"Of course, you're Rhett's friend. I don't intend to interfere," Scarlett replied, pulling on her gloves, eager to be on her way. "Anyway, it's nice to know I won't be alone," she added, seeking solidarity with one of the few other people in Charleston who understood the burden she had assumed.

***

Later that afternoon, after Scarlett returned from her outing, the invalid chair was delivered.

Joseph was taken aback. "Captain Butler didn't ask for this."

"No, Joseph, he didn't. I did. I spoke to Dr. Magruder last week and he thought it might benefit Rhett to sit out in the sun for a little while on these beautiful afternoons. Will you help me convince him?" Scarlett smiled sweetly, in an effort to charm the valet.

Joseph didn't intend to say no; however, he had his doubts, and voiced them freely. "I don't know Missus Butler, he be very stubborn. It pain him quite a bit to move about." Touching the hard wooden frame and the cane seat and back, he said, "'Sides, this look uncomfortable."

"But you see that's the beauty of it. Once he's settled, we can move him room to room without further discomfort." She would brook no dissent, and cut the conversation short with a firm command. "Come on now, let's get this upstairs."

Joseph called for Ezekiel, and they carried the bulky chair up the stairs, making a good bit of noise in the process. "Put it in the sitting room for now," Scarlett instructed. "Joseph, can you find a small eiderdown quilt? We'll fold it up and place it on the length of the seat and leg rest."

Rhett heard the commotion and called out to Scarlett. She entered his room, smiling. "I've brought you a present."

"Purchased with my money, no doubt," he said, irritably. "Joseph told me you were out spending it freely this morning."

Scarlett frowned and rolled her eyes. He's going to be difficult about this, she thought. Before she had a chance to respond, Joseph brought the chair into the room.

Rhett scowled, "I don't see the need."

To Scarlett, the issue of the invalid chair wasn't worth arguing about. She shrugged and said, "Suit yourself. Last week I asked Dr. Magruder if he thought you might benefit from going out into the sun on warm afternoons. He thought the idea had merit."

"Ah, so you and Magruder will decide what is best for me. I shudder to think what I'll be forced to endure at your hands," he replied sarcastically. Earlier, Rhett and Dr. Magruder had engaged in a fierce debate about the appropriate dose of calomel, and at the moment he was none too pleased with his physician.

Scarlett assumed Rhett's peevish reaction was meant for her. "Isn't that why you asked me to stay? You want everything your way," she snapped. "If I am to remain here to see to your welfare, you're going to have to trust me to make some decisions on my own." With that, Scarlett left the room. Blast the man, she thought, he's never happy with anything I do.

One of the housemaids, Vinie, met Scarlett as she walked into the sitting room. Vinie held a large envelope and the bouquets from the market, "Mail fer you Miz Butler."

As Scarlett took her mail, she instructed Vinie to place the flowers in Rhett's rooms. Turning her attention to the envelope, she noted the return address from Atlanta, and her spirits lifted. Upon opening it she found letters from Wade and Melanie, and several drawings made by the younger children. Joseph was in Rhett's bedroom, wrangling with him about using the invalid chair. Seeking quiet, Scarlett went out on to the piazza to read her letters.

Wade wrote expressing his shock at learning about the severity of Rhett's illness, filled her in on the holiday goings on with his family, and gave his mother assurance that everything necessary was being done to keep the stables running in her absence. He included some mail forwarded to him from Tara by Suellen.

Melanie's letter expressed her sweet longing for her grandmother to return home to spend Christmas with her and her sisters and brother. The light, chatty tone of the child's letter was just the balm that Scarlett's spirit needed at this time. Melanie wrote of the Christmas pageant at church, her school and music lessons, and the preparations in progress for the holiday at her home. Thinking about the traditional holiday activities of decorating and cooking, and the smells of fresh cut evergreens and gingerbread baking caused a wave of homesickness to envelop Scarlett, and for a moment, she thought her resolve to stay might crack. She pushed the unwelcome thought from her mind, and continued to examine the contents of the envelope.

Three children's drawings were enclosed with the letters. Annabelle drew three girls and their grandmother on horseback, Caroline drew a Christmas tree with presents, and Teddy's picture looked something like a dog and scribbles. One of his sisters had written an explanatory note on Teddy's picture. Apparently, he wanted Santa to bring him a puppy.

Wade's wife, Alicia, would never allow a dog in her home, Scarlett thought scornfully. She just might give the boy a puppy herself. While Scarlett envisioned a new way to irritate her daughter-in-law, the French doors opened and Joseph pushed Rhett, sitting in the invalid chair, out on to the piazza.

"May I join you, Mrs. Butler?" Rhett asked, as he shot Joseph a look that Scarlett didn't understand. Joseph smiled at her, and then adjusted the seat back on the chair so that it reclined slightly. Rhett dismissed him with a gesture. "You received some mail I see." He pointed to the large envelope she held.

Scarlett looked down at the envelope clasped in her hand as though seeing it for the first time, and held it up. "Yes, letters from Wade and Melanie, drawings from the younger children. Would you like to see their pictures?"

He nodded and held out his hand as she pulled the childish drawings out of the envelope one by one, "This is Annabelle's picture."

"Horses, very nice," he murmured approvingly. "Does she like to ride?"

"All the girls like to ride. Usually we go to Tara after Christmas and they take over the stables for the week. Melanie is keen to learn dressage. I believe Wade and Alicia are getting her a new saddle for Christmas." Next she pulled out Caroline's picture of a Christmas tree, then Teddy's dog.

After looking at the children's artwork, Rhett leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "How is Wade?"

"He is well. Busy, as you might imagine, with a law practice and four children."

"Four children, quite the paterfamilias."

Scarlett looked at Rhett, eyes closed, basking in the bright afternoon sun, and wondered why he never sought a relationship with Wade and his family. Children always meant so much to him. As she gazed off toward the harbor, she told him, "Both Wade and Melanie send you their best."

"Melanie, too?" That seemed to catch his interest as he opened his eyes and perked up a bit.

"Would you like to read her letter?"

Scarlett handed him the girl's letter, then, watched with interest as Rhett read it. "She sounds smart. Would you say she is more like Wade or his wife?"

"She's definitely a Hamilton, but she has more spirit than Wade did at that age."

Rhett gave Scarlett a critical look, and spoke sharply, "How could she be less spirited? Wade was a timid child, and exceedingly fearful." He stopped short of outright criticism of her mothering of the boy, then, softened his tone. "Obviously his children miss you. Because I'm keeping you away from them that makes you my Christmas treat."

Scarlett frowned. His playful flippancy annoyed her. Moreover, she would miss them as well; something Rhett didn't seem to understand. "Well, I guess you could say that."

He handed her the letter, and she tucked it back into the envelope, along with the pictures. "You are very lucky to have such a fine family," Rhett sighed.

Scarlett spoke matter-of-factly in a voice tinged with regret. "We could have shared this. You know my children always loved you like a father."

"No, we could not," he stated emphatically, "even though I loved your children like a father. Do you never tire of trying to insinuate my presence in your life? Don't you see? It wasn't possible." He raked his fingers through his thinning hair.

"No," she replied in a hot rush, "no, I don't see! I'm too blind to see it! Tell me, why wasn't it possible? What held you back?" She hoped to force him to finally explain himself. To Scarlett, Rhett's motives and feelings where she was concerned were like a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. When he finally told her in plain words, the night Melanie died, how he'd loved her for years, it was a revelation. She couldn't see it, couldn't fathom it, until that night.

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and said one word: "Bonnie." He spoke her name in a soft voice, caressing the syllables, like a supplicant praying.

"What?" Scarlett croaked in surprise. She didn't expect this turn in the conversation and she stared at him in perplexity. Bonnie had been the single best thing to come out of their marriage. Her death led inexorably to its undoing. Why even speak of this? Unless the specter of her death still haunted him. All these years gone by, and he still mourned that child! Suddenly Scarlett was filled with compassion for Rhett.

"Our marriage turned out differently than I expected," he said sadly. "When I left you, I thought I would come back, but quickly realized, I couldn't. So I left that life behind. The only reminder I allowed myself was that portrait you gave me." The fleeting shadow of a smile crossed his face for a split second, then, he continued. "I left you, I left the country, and I never looked back."

He paused and breathed deeply, as if to gain control of an emotion, which if unleashed, would engulf him. "When Bonnie died, something inside me died as well. Guilt consumed me. Going back to Atlanta would only have served to again plunge me into the blackest despair I have ever known. I saved myself by going far away, so far away that I could push all those memories aside and tell myself it didn't matter. But, of course, it did matter. As the years went by, an overwhelming sense of emptiness grew, and the festering feelings I refused to face were like a toxin seeping into my system, poisoning me. Finally, I succumbed."

For one horrific moment Scarlett remembered arguing with Rhett over Bonnie's lifeless body, calling him a murderer. Remembered him asking her to be merciful, yet she showed him none. Her words poured out in a desperate attempt to bind the wound Rhett exposed. "You weren't to blame! It was an accident! All those awful things I said to you, I didn't mean it. I hurt so badly that I lashed out at you, but I didn't mean it. Months later, I wanted to tell you, to apologize, but you were so distant..." Scarlett's voice tailed off. He had a look on his face of raw agony, as though reliving it.

"Don't. It serves no purpose now," he said hoarsely.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"So, given my utter failure as a wife, why didn't you file the divorce papers?" Scarlett asked quietly. "You could have had a fresh start with Mademoiselle Durocher and had many children."

He shook his head, "You have no idea what you're saying. Céline Durocher died of consumption in Switzerland nearly ten years ago. Two months before she died she delivered a child, my child, born dead."

"Your child?" Scarlett gasped, shocked and temporarily rendered speechless.

"Yes, my child. At least that's what I was led to believe. She attempted to conceal the pregnancy, and died before I learned of it. I came to hate her for it. To forget her, to forget a string of disappointments in life, I took up the habit of drinking absinthe, at times even mixing it in brandy. I quickly fell ill. When I was told there was no hope of recovery, my physician recommended a warmer climate. My sister begged me to come back to the States. I've been here almost two years, for the most part alone."

Again, they were silent. There was nothing to say. Rhett laid bare his soul. The disclosure of his slide into dissoluteness, then, illness left Scarlett aghast. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, and tell him she had always been there waiting, but it was too late to go back and undo the damage.

Finally, Scarlett noticed the clouds moving. They were no longer sitting in the full sun. She pulled up the blanket spread across his lap and draped over his legs, and tucked it tightly around his chest and rubbed his arms, covered only by a light-weight nightshirt and his heavier dressing gown. With true concern, she asked Rhett if he felt chilled.

His eyes were closed and he looked utterly exhausted. "Let's go back in. I'd like to sit by the fire."

Scarlett pushed the chair back through the French doors and positioned Rhett before the fireplace. Then she stirred the coals and added a few pieces of wood to the grate until flames leaped up. Dusting her hands off, she said, "There, that should burn nicely for a little while. Would you like me to call Joseph, or," giving Rhett a sidelong look she asked, "should I stay?"

"Stay." He paused and then looked at her, his eyes heavy-lidded with fatigue, "I shocked you, didn't I? Telling you about Céline."

Scarlett gazed into the fire. "It's none of my business."

"No, it isn't any of your business, but I chose to share it with you." The chilly air which surrounded them on the piazza seemed to cling to them, despite the warmth of the fire, and Rhett shivered.

"Why?" Scarlett, mesmerized by the flames, couldn't bring herself to look at him as he spoke for fear of what he would reveal next. She'd heard too much already.

"So you'd understand."

"Understand?"

"Yes, understand that out of the life we shared, you were left with the better part." He pointed to the large envelope from Wade and his children, now lying on the end table next to the chaise. He sighed heavily. "I ran away and only compounded my unhappiness."

"You could have come back! We would have welcomed you with open arms," Scarlett cried.

"No," he replied, firmly, bluntly.

It was the bitterest word Scarlett had ever heard. She softly moaned a plaintive query, "Why?"

"I explained."

"Bonnie?"

"Yes."

For a quiet moment she pondered the last half hour and the harvest she'd reaped, of twenty-seven years worth of hidden pain. One question was left unanswered, the most important in Scarlett's mind. "But you still never told me what I mean to you."

"I thought we had established just what our feelings for each other were last night."

"You never answered me directly when I asked you. You always have to control any given situation." It was now Scarlett's turn to expose her own pain, long-stored, and carefully concealed. "You torment me, for your amusement it seems, and it gives you the sense you can control something in your life, as life slips through your grasp. When I finally knew my heart, you denied me a place in your life, and now you want me to watch you die! Is that why you asked me to come here, to twist the knife one last time?

"We have both paid dearly for the blunders we made in our marriage. I thought this time together could be a way to reach out and make peace," her face softened. "After all, Christmas is the time of year when we think of peace on earth and goodwill toward all." She turned to face him. Her face was flushed from the warmth of the fire, as well as the passion of her outburst. "I came because you asked, I stayed because you asked. Yet, I don't understand why. If the only reason I'm here is to determine when you need drugs to help you die, please, find someone else."

"Since we never divorced, having you here now seems right. You know the vows; you've repeated them several times: 'til death do us part." Rhett paused, considering how much more he wanted to say before he continued. "The last time I met him in Paris, my friend Degas encouraged me to return to you. We were both in poor health and alone. Genius though he is, the old fool is quite sentimental and always regretted that he had no family. Somehow, he managed to persuade me to tell him about our relationship. He told me if he had a wife, he wouldn't care what happened in the past, he would go to her. I almost called for you when I first returned to the States, but couldn't do it. We must live in the present, we can't go back; you understand that better than most people." He held out his hand to her, and she slid forward in her chair and leaned toward him, extending her hand. He clasped it.

Rhett gave her a penetrating look, "I've always had an aversion to honest discourse with you. It was one cause of the failure of our marriage. Scarlett, I have an affectionate regard for you, but not love. I'm sorry if this sounds selfish, but I sent for you because I need someone here who cares about me, cares about me enough to let me die in peace, not make demands that I can't meet. If this is something you can't do, I don't want to keep you away from your family. You're free to leave."

She squeezed his hand gently. Slowly her eyes opened to the truth of the situation, and she could see he was cutting his ties with life, not seeking to reclaim them. "I can't leave you now. It is as you say, for me to be here is to honor my vows to you. Besides, I refused the divorce all those years, I owe you this."

He nodded as he gazed into the fire. His energy was spent, it was time to go back to his bed, but he needed to tell Scarlett one last thing.

"Do you remember the night Melanie died, when I told you I was looking for peace?"

She nodded.

By now Rhett was emotionally, as well as physically, drained. His voice sounded thin and weak. "I never really found it. Yet, having you here this last week, has brought me a measure of peace I haven't felt in quite some time."

"It's a hard thing, when your head and your heart are at odds. I know that struggle all too well." She stood up and moved to the back of the invalid chair, leaned forward and looped her arms around Rhett's neck. She kissed the top of his head and then lightly rested her cheek there as Rhett reached across his chest and caressed her forearm.

"I want to show you I care. I don't want to hurt you or make you feel angry or bitter."

"Let the bugles sing truce?" he asked, echoing his own words to her from long ago, in Kennedy's store.

She recognized those words, and smiled faintly at the memory. "That's it."

They both chuckled softly.

**A/N - I will be posting another short chapter later this evening.**


	15. Chapter 15

**The usual disclaimer applies, I do not own GWTW or any of the characters.**

**A/N - The beginning of this chapter quotes The Story of a Soul by St. Therese of Lisieux, translated and edited by Robert J. Edmonson, 2006. I would like to thank the MW for reading this chapter and offering feedback.  
**

The next afternoon Scarlett received a package from Carreen. Her brief note explained that this was what she had intended to give Scarlett, but rather than wait for her next Sunday visit, Carreen was sending it by messenger so Scarlett could start reading immediately. The package contained a handwritten manuscript, translated from the original French by one of the nuns at the convent: Manuscript B, The Test of Faith 1896-1897 from _The Story of a Soul_ by Sister Thérèse of the Child Jesus.

Upon opening the package and examining its contents, Scarlett groaned in dismay. She hated to read, and this manuscript was doubly bad--a religious treatise by a French nun!

Rhett was amused. "Are you going to lie to your sister, the _nun_, and tell her you read it when you have no intention of doing so?"

"It won't exactly be a lie," Scarlett rationalized. "I'll read a few pages, tell her it was beyond my understanding, and give it back."

"It won't exactly be the truth either. Let me spare you the dishonor of lying. Read it to me." He wasn't really interested in rescuing Scarlett's honor. He remembered Carreen from Ella's days as a student at St. Catherine's, and respected her sincerity and genuine faith. She was no religious hypocrite. If she thought there was some benefit to be gained from reading Sister Thérèse's manuscript, Rhett would give it a fair hearing.

"Are you daft? It's written by some nun! How could you possibly be interested in this? And since when is my honor any concern of yours?" Scarlett was exasperated with the situation, and found Rhett's amusement with her predicament extremely irritating.

"Come on Scarlett, start with page one," he cajoled. "I'll listen, for awhile."

"You're too good to me!" she replied sarcastically. Nonetheless, she began.

_ June, 1897_

_Beloved Mother, you've shown me the desire that I'm fulfilling with you to sing the mercies of the Lord [Ps. 89:1]._

Initially, after reading a few pages, Rhett closed his eyes. Scarlett assumed he had fallen asleep and stopped reading. Then he spoke up, "Keep reading." After four days she had gotten through most of the manuscript. Any wisdom contained in this treatise was lost on Scarlett. She did not hear Carreen's words reflected in what she read.

"_A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." [Jn. 13:34]...[A]s I meditated on these words...I understood how much my love for my Sisters was imperfect. I saw that I wasn't loving them as God loves them. Oh! Now I understand that perfect charity consists in bearing with others' faults, in not being surprised at their weakness..._

She marveled that Rhett continued to encourage her to read. If he desired to hear a book read aloud she thought that something from his library would be more enjoyable. She found the overt religiosity of the writing to be tiresome.

_There is in our community one Sister who has the talent of displeasing me in everything: Her manners, her words, her character seemed to me to be _very displeasing_... So I set about doing for this Sister what I would have done for the person that I love the most..._

_[W]hen I had the temptation to answer her in an unpleasant way, I contented myself with giving her my most pleasant smile, and I tried to turn the conversation in a different direction..._

_[God] told me that I must love this Sister, I must pray for her, even when her behavior would lead me to believe that she doesn't like me: "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them" [Lk. 6:32] _

_And it isn't enough to love; you have to prove it... To give to all those who _ask_ is less sweet than to offer oneself through the movement of one's heart._

After hearing that passage, Rhett asked Scarlett, "What do you think Sister Thérèse would say about us?"

Scarlett shot back immediately, "We are going straight to hell for perpetuating this fraud! I should have sent this back to my sister immediately."

Rhett chuckled quietly, "You really haven't been paying any attention to what you're reading, have you?"

"Of course I have, I just don't agree." The obstinate set of Scarlett's jaw and hardness of her attitude amused Rhett. Sometimes she was like a pig-headed child. Apparently the parallels to their own situation escaped her, but made him wonder if this wasn't Carreen's implicit message.

"Just keep reading," he replied. Never a person of faith, but knowing his death was near, made Rhett appreciate this young nun's story. They had something in common; they shared the experience of illness and imminent death. The little French nun died of consumption shortly after she finished writing her book. Of course, her love of God had animated her soul and was the core of the story. Rhett wasn't inclined to believe, but he was curious. As long as Scarlett was willing to read, he would encourage her to do so, and he would listen.

_When I want to give rest to my heart, fatigued from the darkness that surrounds it, by remembering the luminous country toward which I aspire, my torment redoubles. It seems to me that the darkness, borrowing the voice of sinners, tells me mockingly, "You're dreaming up the light, this homeland smelling of the sweetest perfume. You're dreaming up the _everlasting_ possession of the Creator of all these marvelous things. You think that someday you're going to get out of all this fog that surrounds you. Go ahead, go ahead, rejoice in death, which will give you, not what you're hoping for, but a still deeper night, the night of nothingness."_

Rhett couldn't decide whether or not there was an afterlife. He knew there was a hell, even though he remembered laughing at Scarlett after Frank Kennedy died for stating her childish belief in the place. "Hubris," he thought. Of course the hell Scarlett believed in was some fiery furnace in the hereafter. The hell Rhett knew existed was here on earth; he'd visited it a few times. His idea of heaven was the place where he would be reunited with his Bonnie. He pondered the expression "rest in peace." True peace had eluded his wandering spirit for so long that he wondered if it was even possible to achieve in this life. He yearned to be at peace, in a place where he would know that love _is_, and feel loved, nothing else, and in this, he and the French nun were remarkably similar.

They developed a routine. In the morning, Scarlett would go to the market while Joseph shaved and bathed Rhett. When she returned, they would have breakfast together, then, Scarlett would read. He let her take a break from reading in the afternoon if it was pleasant enough to sit on the piazza for a brief time.

_... [T]his trial that's taking away _all enjoyment_, ... Sometimes, it's true, a tiny little ray of sunshine comes in to illumine my darkness, and so the trial stops for _an instant_, but then the memory of that ray, instead of causing me joy, makes my darkness even thicker... _

He understood how Sister Thérèse felt, his illness had become his life and there was no joy in it. Whatever consolation he took from the simple pleasures of the moment was immediately wiped out by the realization that all was ephemeral. Death was the overarching reality, staring him in the face, taunting him to take enjoyment from life while he was still able.

_Beloved Mother, it seems to me now that nothing is preventing me from flying away, for I no longer have any great desire, if it isn't that of loving to the point of dying from love... (June 9)_

"'Dying from love,' what a strange concept! That's the difference between us," he thought. "There is no love in my life." He looked sadly at Scarlett as she read, impatient to finish the task she detested, and he wished she could hear and respond to the challenge in the nun's words.

Scarlett finished reading the manuscript by the next Sunday and told Rhett she would return it to Carreen when she went for her visit. Rhett thanked her for reading it to him, and told her to thank Carreen as well. "Tell her I appreciate her thoughtfulness, the words spoke to me."

Most evenings, Scarlett would sit with Rhett and do some form of needlework. Sometimes they would talk, but more often they didn't. Just knowing someone was there was enough for him. By the end of the day he had no energy left for idle chatter.

One evening he asked Scarlett to sit next to him.

She looked at him, puzzled. "But I am." She was sitting in the chair next to his bed.

"No, I mean here." He patted the unoccupied side of the bed. Seeing the look of incredulity on Scarlett's face he was moved to add, "I won't bite you."

She wondered if this was evidence of mental deterioration, but acquiesced. After settling herself on the bed, she looked at Rhett and said: "Well, this certainly is a comfortable bed," her discomfort with the situation evident.

He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. With an uncharacteristic burst of energy, he began to reminisce about Atlanta during the war, people they knew, parties they attended, funny things Wade did as a toddler. It was a time in their lives before death, betrayal and hurt left ugly scars. Scarlett laughed and relaxed. Never one to look back, she hadn't thought about any of these people or situations in many years, and she wondered why Rhett felt compelled to do so. In the middle of a remembrance he suddenly stopped. Scarlett encouraged him to continue, but it was as though a switch had been flipped the change was so abrupt. He shook his head, no.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "I've been dying in pieces for years. I didn't think this would hurt so badly, but I can't let go of the sweetness of life." He opened his eyes and looked at Scarlett. "Have you ever looked at any of the art work in this room?"

She shook her head. "No."

He pointed at the wall opposite the bed, to a painting of a basket of strawberries. "Look at that one, a very simple subject, a basket of strawberries. Manet painted that picture in his last months of life when he was very sick. He turned from complex compositions of the people and places in Paris he knew and loved best, and focused on still lifes, simple subjects readily available in his environment. His brilliance was such that he had to paint, indeed, painted practically until his last month. And his life force was that strong, he couldn't stop." Rhett looked at Scarlett to see if she was still following his train of thought.

"Bring me the picture, please." He watched her as she got off the bed and took the picture off the wall as he had requested. He gestured for her to sit down next to him again, to examine it with him.

Rhett continued. "You see the brush strokes. From across the room the picture gives the appearance of an exact rendering of a basket of fruit, but up close you see the artist's hand at work, you realize the illusion. He has given you his impression of the thing. Yet, these strawberries look as though they were just picked on a late spring morning. You can smell their sweetness, feel the warmth of the sun still on the fruit, and imagine biting into one of them and feel the little seeds on your tongue and the sweetness and tang of the juice as it fills your mouth." He ran his fingers lightly over the fruit in the picture, feeling the brush strokes made by his friend many years ago. He gave her back the picture, and she returned it to its place on the wall.

When Scarlett returned to the bed, she sat facing Rhett. He reached for her hand again.

"Do you ever feel the need to reach out to another person, to be touched?" He looked at her expectantly.

"How do you mean that?" She had a pinched, anxious look on her face.

"I can't get the last line of that nun's manuscript out of my head: _I no longer have any great desire, if it isn't that of loving to the point of dying from love..."_

"Not that foolishness again!" Scarlett cried, all patience lost.

He shook his head. "I should have known you wouldn't understand."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she bristled.

"I know that feeling, of being dried up and ready to blow away, yet still desiring love. My body is consumed by illness, but my soul seeks love." He looked at her with a glimmer of the old light in his eyes.

"So what does that have to do with me?" she asked warily.

"Human touch, I just wanted to feel close to you. It's been a long time, and you and Joseph are probably going to be the last people on earth I spend time with. Do you understand? Affection, closeness, warmth?"

"I guess." She spoke slowly, still not sure what he was getting at. "I thought you didn't feel that way about me."

"You were an important part of my life and gave me great joy, as well as great pain." He reached out and stroked her hair, with a faraway look in his eyes, as though enraptured by a vision. "You were my beautiful Scarlett, so young, so high-spirited, so spoiled."

She moved closer to him, and she too, looked past the sick, old man, and instead saw her beau, the dashing blockade runner with his powerful build, black hair and teasing smile. "Whenever you entered a room, my heart beat faster. You always made me feel so alive." As the vision faded, her eyes refocused on Rhett, sitting next to her, and she saw him as he was, frail and near to death, and she thought of all the wasted years, of the gulf that grew between them during their years living together, and of their love, swamped in a sea of bitter disappointments. The magnitude of what they lost hit her full force, and she wailed mournfully, "Oh, Rhett, what happened to us? How could things have gone so wrong?" Immediately she covered her mouth, as though she wished to prevent more words of regret from spilling out.

He shook his head, and spoke softly: "My dear, you are looking back at the folly of youth with the clarity of age. It can't be helped, it's the human condition." He sighed: "Somehow we make it through."

She reached out to embrace him. He received her into his arms and they held each other for a long while.

When she finally pulled back, she gently caressed his cheek, and said with great tenderness: "Now I understand."

And he knew she meant she understood not only this need for affection, but his reason for calling her to him as well.

**The Story of a Soul**** was originally published in French in 1898, and the English translation, in 1901. It was an instant success, especially with Catholic religious communities. Edouard Manet died on April 30, 1883 at age 52 from tertiary syphilis.**


	16. Chapter 16

**The usual disclaimer applies, I own nothing. A/N Thanks again to MW for advice. Potential hankie alert!**

Dr. Magruder left Rhett's room, closing the door quietly behind him, when he really wanted to slam it shut. "The man is impossible," he muttered under his breath. Rhett and the doctor had argued again about the appropriate dose of calomel. Dr. Magruder reiterated his position that the drug was a necessary cathartic, used to prevent the build up of fluid in Rhett's abdomen. Rhett, in turn, argued that it was poisonous and the cathartic effect was worse, by far, than the belly tap. His physician in London had warned Rhett that doctors in the United States had a tendency to overuse old-fashioned medicines like calomel, and he heeded that warning. In this advanced stage of his illness, not much could improve his condition. Rhett believed the calomel was useless and only had a deleterious effect. Dr. Magruder took the Hippocratic oath seriously: First, do no harm. While he thought Rhett had a valid point about the therapeutic use of calomel, it irked him to be told how to practice medicine by a patient, and such a cantankerous one at that!

As Dr. Magruder prepared to leave, Scarlett came into the sitting room, softly humming a Christmas carol. She bustled about the room arranging white chrysanthemums and holly in vases. It was Christmas Eve. The doctor observed that up until today, it seemed as though the spirit and excitement of the season stopped at Butler's front door. It was nice to see that his wife hadn't forgotten about the holiday. He greeted her perfunctorily.

"Dr. Magruder, so nice to see you. Merry Christmas!" Scarlett smiled warmly at the physician. "How is everything going today?" she asked, gesturing toward the closed bedroom door.

Her cheerful greeting stopped him in his tracks, and he realized, as a non-medical person she had no idea that if her husband lived to see the New Year, it would be a miracle. "He is slowly failing. Please watch him carefully for signs of further deterioration." He added with evident annoyance: "Clearly, he's quite irritable."

Scarlett's smile wilted, replaced by a look of deep concern. "Of course, Dr. Magruder."

He paused a moment before leaving the room. "Mrs. Butler, should anything untoward occur tomorrow, please feel free to call me. I'll be at home."

Silently, Scarlett watched Dr. Magruder leave. One hand at her throat, she bowed her head, and contemplated his words. Unanswered questions swirled through her mind, and anxiety seized her. What did it all mean? Would Rhett die tonight, tomorrow? Why wasn't the doctor more specific?

In the past, all the deaths of close family members had been sudden, and Scarlett hadn't had time to prepare or think of the impact of losing those loved ones. While she knew Rhett's death was inevitable, she continued to push that thought aside until tomorrow for each day that went by, choosing instead to live in the moment. Now, Dr. Magruder's words brought her mission in Charleston back into focus, and a cold wave of apprehension swept through her. Since the night she and Rhett had embraced one another, Scarlett experienced a feeling of lightness, as though the worst part of her burden had been removed. The past few days had been free of needless rancor. She was enjoying the renewed sense of closeness with Rhett; it was too soon to let go.

Scarlett squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath, consciously relaxing her facial muscles, then, curved her lips into a pleasing smile, and took one of the holiday bouquets into Rhett's room. The sharp odor of rubbing alcohol was the first thing she noticed upon opening the door. Joseph was standing in the corner holding a syringe, carefully removing the needle in order to place it in a basin filled with alcohol to disinfect it. Rhett lay on the bed, motionless.

"Is Rhett alright?" Scarlett asked, a worried frown creasing her brow.

Joseph looked up, and smiled at Scarlett. "I give him some morphine for belly pain. He'll sleep for a little while."

"Oh." She placed the flowers on a table across the room from the bed, between the two windows, and went back to Rhett's side. Scarlett stroked his hair back, and he stirred slightly at her touch. "It's only me. Rest," she murmured softly.

Earlier in the day, Scarlett had gone to the market and purchased a small fir tree, some delicate glass baubles and punched tin stars for decorating it, along with the bouquets of white chrysanthemums and holly, and several small oranges and cloves to make fragrant pomanders. While he slept, she intended to make Rhett's rooms look festive for Christmas. With Joseph's assistance she set the small tree on a table and decorated it. He admired her handiwork and ventured to say that it would please Captain Butler as well.

When Rhett joined her in the sitting room that evening, Scarlett turned down the gaslights, and lit the green candles at the windows. The aroma of orange and clove filled the air. The effect pleased Scarlett, but apparently not Rhett.

"What have you done?" he asked peevishly. Reclining on the chaise, his face was drawn and his shoulders hunched. He looked as though he was curling up on himself.

"I've decorated your rooms for Christmas. Don't you like it?" She was surprised at what she perceived as displeasure, but from his appearance she could only assume that he must still be in pain.

"It wasn't necessary. I don't feel like celebrating."

"Well, aren't you Ebenezer Scrooge!"

"Indeed, Bah Humbug to you, Mrs. Butler!"

Scarlett felt hurt, but refused to show it. Slowly, she was becoming inured to his moodiness, accepting it as an unfortunate side effect of the slow build up of toxins in his system. "After we take our meal, I'm going to the convent for Christmas Mass. Carreen invited me to join her last Sunday when I visited her."

Rhett grunted.

The meal passed mostly in silence. When she was finished, Scarlett rose to leave. "I must get dressed."

Before she left for the evening she went to Rhett's bedroom and wished him a Merry Christmas. He continued to feign annoyance, but she noticed the little fir tree had been moved from the sitting room to the bedroom.

Upon arriving back at the house hours later, instead of quiet, Scarlett heard raised voices. Thinking Rhett had taken a turn for the worse, she flew up the stairs as quickly as she could. She threw off her coat, hat and gloves in the sitting room and burst through the bedroom door.

Rhett was shouting "Make it stop!" as Joseph tried to calm him. She wondered if he was having night terrors or if he was suffering from delirium, when she noticed that he was scratching so hard he drew blood on his arms.

Scarlett went to him immediately. She took his hand, "Rhett I'm here."

But he pulled his hand away from her, flailing wildly. "The itching, the itching, make it stop," he moaned. The intense itching he felt in the palms of his hands and soles of his feet drove him to vigorously rub them on the bed linens.

Joseph brought a basin of a warm alkaline solution and placed Rhett's hands in it, and wrapped a towel soaked in the same solution around his feet. When he saw the look of shock on Scarlett's face, he smiled reassuringly at her. "The doctor said this might work." After the warm water cooled, and Joseph dried off Rhett's hands and feet, he gave him an injection using the same hypodermic needle and syringe set Scarlett had seen him cleaning earlier.

As Rhett's agitation diminished, it appeared that the soaks and medication had a beneficial effect. When he finally went back to sleep, Scarlett asked Joseph to find a cot to put at the foot of his bed. "I'll sleep in here in case he awakens again."

"As you wish, Missus." Joseph and Ezekiel worked quickly to set up the little bed for Scarlett so that the household could settle back to sleep.

Unfortunately, the quiet was short-lived. Rhett became violently ill in the night, vomiting a large quantity of blood, not long after Scarlett drifted off into an uneasy sleep. She and Joseph worked tirelessly together. When it seemed that the worst was over, Joseph remarked that this was how the illness first manifested itself five years ago. "What an awful burden," Scarlett thought, and she admired Joseph for his steadfast loyalty to Rhett throughout this sickness. She wasn't sure she could have been so unwavering in her devotion. Exhausted, as it was now near dawn, she lay down on the cot, rolled onto her side and fell asleep.

A few hours later, when Rhett stirred, Scarlett sprang up quickly to see if he needed help. His mouth was dry, and he asked for water. As Scarlett held the water glass to his lips, someone knocked softly on the bedroom door.

"Missus Butler? Dr. Magruder is here. Can we come in?"

It was Joseph. She had no idea he would call the doctor so early in the day.

"Give me a minute," she replied, as she hurriedly set the glass down. Scarlett put on her dressing gown, and opened the door for the two men.

Dr. Magruder carried a different array of supplies, and explained that due to the stomach bleeding, he was going to perform a gastric lavage with ice water. Scarlett left them, and gratefully crawled into her own comfortable bed to sleep for a few more hours while Dr. Magruder treated Rhett.

When she returned to Rhett's bedside, he was again sleeping. Joseph explained that the doctor had given him more morphine. The bleeding had stopped, and Dr. Magruder wanted Scarlett and Joseph to encourage Rhett to take as much fluid as possible. A full pitcher of fresh water was on the bedside table. Scarlett nodded and took Rhett's hand. She leaned toward his ear, and whispered: "I'm here. Tell me if you need anything." As the afternoon wore on, she became drowsy and started to nod off. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and close her eyes, so she decided to climb onto the bed with Rhett. Lying down next to him, with her head on the pile of pillows under his right shoulder, she draped her arm protectively across his chest and quickly fell asleep. Once asleep, she didn't notice that Rhett had reached for her hand and was holding it.

It seemed like only minutes later when once again Joseph woke her to say that Rhett had visitors. Scarlett jumped off the bed quickly, and went to the dressing room to fix her disheveled appearance. She could hear Rhett telling Joseph he didn't want any visitors, he didn't care who it was.

Joseph ignored Rhett, and brought the guests, a middle-aged woman and her grown son, into the bedroom when Scarlett was ready to receive them. Scarlett resumed sitting in her usual spot next to the bed, and Rhett held fast to her hand.

Before Joseph could make the introductions, the woman spoke up, with a look of haughty disdain for Scarlett. "Who are you?" she asked bluntly.

Joseph explained that this was Captain Butler's wife. The woman's eyebrows shot up. "Really? It's about time you put in an appearance!"

Scarlett was taken aback by the woman's rudeness, and was preparing to lash back at her, but she felt Rhett gently squeeze her fingers. Joseph introduced Scarlett to Rhett's sister-in-law, Mildred Butler, and her son, Preston. Preston extended his hand, and greeted Scarlett as his aunt. Mildred looked down her nose at Scarlett and ignored her.

Mildred then smiled ingratiatingly at Rhett and asked how he was feeling.

"Don't worry, Millie," he said, "I'll be dead soon, and you'll have your money."

"Now, Rhett, it's Christmas. Can't we let bygones be bygones? Besides, Pres and I brought you a present."

Preston had been holding a gaily wrapped box, and placed it on the bed next to Rhett. "Open it, Uncle," he urged.

Scarlett picked up the box, undid the ribbon, pulled the paper away, and then held it out for Rhett to open. He plucked at the lid weakly, and Preston stepped forward to help open the box. Inside was a very expensive looking cashmere dressing gown, warm and soft. If it hadn't come from Mildred, Scarlett would have considered it a most thoughtful gift.

"Merry Christmas, Uncle. Do you like it?" Preston, unlike his mother, seemed to genuinely care about Rhett.

"Thank you, Pres, very nice." Rhett's mouth was so dry he could barely speak. Scarlett offered him more water, which he drank gratefully.

Mildred surveyed the room, and the situation, with the cynical eye of one who always seeks personal advantage. Once she decided nothing was to be gained by staying any longer, she rose. "Well, we must be going. We wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I hope you feel better soon, Rhett."

"I'm not going to be around soon, Millie. You needn't trouble yourself coming back." Though his voice was weak and raspy, his meaning was clear. He loathed the woman, widow of his younger brother.

Mildred sped out the door without another word. Preston, however, lingered.

"Uncle," he started, tentatively, while patting Rhett's hand. "I… I hope…" He couldn't find the right words. "I hope you get stronger. I'll come see you again."

Rhett nodded.

Preston bowed slightly to Scarlett. "It was a pleasure to meet you, ma'am." Then, he followed his mother out.

Watching the unexpected visitors leave, Scarlett shook her head in bewilderment. Rhett had lapsed back into a drug-induced slumber, again clutching her hand.

Unable to leave the seat, Scarlett stayed and pressed Rhett's hand to her cheek. The fragrances in the room of evergreen, citrus and spicy clove aroused old memories, and Scarlett began to think about the Christmases she and Rhett spent together as husband and wife, in stark contrast to this last sad Christmas.

Bonnie's first Christmas stuck out in her mind. What a joyous celebration that was! Rhett looked forward to the holiday with the exuberance of a child. He bought an infant's rocking horse for Bonnie, and everyone who came to visit that Christmas day took a turn pushing it for her, even Uncle Henry. Bonnie, perched in the wicker seat mounted between two cutout horses, would chortle and squeal with delight the faster the horse rocked. When she tired and started to fuss, Ashley, who had been the last to rock the little contraption, picked her up and jiggled her to soothe her. Scarlett saw how tenderly he held the baby, and the look of longing in his eyes, and how Melanie recognized that look. Melanie would gladly have borne a dozen children for Ashley. Certainly, she died trying. Rhett also saw Ashley caressing his child; he swooped down and plucked her out of his arms, like some great bird of prey. To Rhett, it was bad enough that he lost the affection and comfort of his wife due to the meddlesome influence of the honorable Mr. Wilkes; he would not see his child's attention diverted as well. Scarlett thought it irrational at the time, but looking back, that small scene on Christmas day held the seeds of their collective downfall.

A tear slid down her cheek, and Rhett must have felt the wetness on the skin of his hand. "Why are you crying?" he asked weakly.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her other hand, she sniffed, and, smiling at Rhett, said it was nothing, nothing at all.

***

The day after Christmas dawned grey and rainy. When Dr. Magruder came, he brought the supplies needed to perform a belly tap. This time Rhett refused.

"I've had enough. I can't do it. Besides, the last one gave me little relief."

Dr. Magruder took Scarlett aside and stated flatly, "It won't be long now. Call me if you need anything. I'll be back on Friday in any event."

After the doctor had gone, Rhett slept. Scarlett took her knitting to the parlor and had Ezekiel build a fire. Joseph, smiling broadly, came to tell Scarlett she had guests as he led Ella and her children into the cozy room. Joseph and the Connellys were well-acquainted with one another from Rhett's many visits to New York over the years. Scarlett rose from her seat with a joyful cry. She hadn't seen Ella and her children since their last visit to Tara six months earlier. Cathy shrieked with happiness when she saw her Gran, and Scarlett hugged and kissed both children.

"Merry Christmas, darlings! I'm so very happy you're here, I can't tell you." Her eyes shone with delight, and she impulsively kissed each child again.

Ella held her mother's hands and gazed intently into her eyes, "How is he?"

Scarlett shook her head, her smile fading, "The doctor was here this morning, not good. Joseph can take you upstairs to his room. I'll stay with the children."

Ella squeezed her mother's arm affectionately, then, followed Joseph out of the parlor and up the stairs. A fire was burning in Rhett's sitting room, and Ella saw the Christmas decorations her mother had arranged. Beyond the sitting room, in the bedroom, she could see Rhett lying in his bed, asleep. She did not want to disturb him, so she quietly slipped into the chair next to his bed, hoping he would awaken soon. His jaundice and weight loss were evident, occasionally he would shudder or twitch. Ella sat, eyes closed, head bowed and held in her hands, her elbows on her knees. Her meditation was broken when she heard Rhett whisper her name. She looked up, into his eyes, sunken and sad, and reached for his hand.

"Hello, mon beau-père," she said gently. "I've missed you. How are you feeling?"

"Like ten miles of bad road!" He blinked sleepily, "I hope I'm not dreaming. It's really you, isn't it, Ella?"

She laughed, and leaned over to kiss his cheek, "Of course, it's really me. Cathy and Michael are downstairs with Mother. We came as soon as we could. I wish you had let me know you were this sick. We were worried about you when you didn't come for a visit in the fall or the previous spring."

"Ah, Ella, I'm sorry," he sighed. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"We're here now, that's what counts." She stroked his hand, noticing the broken skin, "If I had known about your illness, I would have come."

"You have a family to care for; I couldn't impose on you that way. I'm not your burden to bear."

"How can you say that?" Ella cried, hurt. "You are part of my family." She gently squeezed his hand for emphasis.

Rhett smiled in response. "When can I see the children?"

"Whenever you're ready, they are very eager to see you."

Rhett closed his eyes. "I hope I don't scare them. I know I look awful."

"Don't give it a thought. They know you're ill," Ella said softly.

Observing her stepfather lying silent, with eyes closed, Ella assumed he must have fallen back to sleep and started to slip her hand out of his, when he tightened his grip slightly. "Don't go."

She was a little startled at first. "Can I do anything for you?"

"I want to see Michael and Cathy." He spoke insistently. "Call them here. Get Joseph. Tell him."

"Yes, mon beau-père," she said as she acquiesced to his request, ringing for the valet.

In short order, Scarlett brought the children upstairs to see Rhett. She hung back to observe as Michael and Cathy greeted him. Restrained at first, they soon opened up and were sharing details of their lives with him. Rhett would ask questions, attentive to their answers, about school and their activities. At some point, Rhett began to fade out of the conversation, but the children kept talking and his smile, a smile of satisfaction, never left his face. Scarlett signaled to Ella that it was time to cut short the children's visit after fifteen minutes, but Rhett protested.

"No!" He spoke sharply. "I don't want them to go."

Ella and Scarlett, taken aback by the outburst, exchanged questioning looks.

"Mon beau-père, you look tired. Michael and Cathy will come back after they've had a chance to eat." Approaching the bed, she reached out to him to stroke his cheek. "You know how much we love you. We aren't going to leave."

This seemed to mollify Rhett. When the women and children withdrew from the room, Scarlett told them Rhett was not himself, his illness made him irritable and the doctor suspected he could get worse.

"We must conserve his energy. He tires readily," she cautioned.

Later, Ella went back to Rhett's room while he was still sleeping. She walked the perimeter looking at all the pictures on the walls, recognizing the style and techniques of the various painters. She lingered in front of a Monet, a picture of a flowering urban park in spring, admiring its freshness and beauty. Rhett opened his eyes, and when he realized she was there, spoke. "That's the Parc Monceau in Paris, close to where I lived."

Ella sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. "It's quite beautiful. You must miss it."

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, "I used to walk to the park most mornings. It was a short distance from my home. It was designed to be an English garden--English as only a Frenchman could conceive of it!" he said with a soft chuckle. "There's a waterfall in the park, a spot I loved to sit near. Sometimes on a Sunday afternoon I would play chess there, under the shade of the chestnut trees, with a young man, probably not much older than Michael at the time." He faltered.

Ella hugged him and held him until he could speak again. She shared his anguish.

Then he continued, covering his face with his hand, "There are days when I get so angry I lash out at the first person who walks through the door. I'm sure your mother would attest to that, Joseph and Rosemary, too." He turned to look at the painting. "Then I look at that picture. The sunlight filters through the young green leaves, I can almost smell the spring flowers on a gentle breeze, it takes me out of this sick room, and beyond the confines of these walls."

After a pause, Ella spoke. "I kept all your letters. They opened a window on a wonderful world, and introduced me to people I would never have the pleasure of meeting--all those artists." Then she continued, "When I was a little girl, going to school at the convent here, I dreamt that one day you would take me with you when you went to London." She laughed at the childish memory.

"Perhaps I should have." Upon reflection he asked quietly, "Your childhood wasn't a happy one, was it?"

Ella shrugged and smiled wryly. "I have some very good memories of happy times. Happy times in this house, too. Your mother was very kind to me and Wade. She would invite us for Sunday dinner, even if you were out of the country."

"I didn't know," he responded.

"She treated us like her own grandchildren, and that meant a lot since we never knew our grandmother. I guess because she was a close friend of our great-aunts' she felt doubly connected to us." With poorly concealed bitterness, she added, "I will never send my children away."

"Your mother and I never meant to hurt you," he said softly.

"I know it was meant for the best." Ella took a deep breath, shaking off the sad memory, and smiled at her stepfather, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, it was thoughtless of me. Please forgive my rudeness; you and your mother were very good to me. It made the separation from home more bearable."

The conversation lapsed. Finally, Rhett spoke. "Ella, something has been on my mind. When I'm gone, would you ask John to contact Paul Durand-Ruel to inform him of my passing. I'd like for him to know. He'll tell the others."

"Of course," she murmured in assent.

He continued speaking, pausing periodically as though the effort was too much. "The rest of my art collection is in London, crated and stored at Durand-Ruel's New Bond Street gallery. There are also some works on display at my home in Mayfair. Have Joseph show you the collection catalogue. Durand-Ruel prepared it for me before crating the paintings for shipment." He looked at Ella to make sure she was listening carefully. "You and John should go to London before Rosemary sells the house. I want to donate my collection to the Metropolitan Museum. I want it known that John was responsible for the acquisition; it will be a sizeable one. You, John, Wade and your mother may select a painting apiece for yourselves. Check with my solicitor in London when you go, about the duties that may be imposed on the importation of such a large shipment. Make sure the Met pays any such fees."

Ella smiled, "I'd like another Degas. I love his pastels."

"He's a genius—he never hesitated to tell me so." They both laughed softly.


	17. Chapter 17

**The usual disclaimer applies. GWTW and all its characters are the property of Margaret Mitchell and her estate. I own nothing.**

Now that Ella, Michael and Cathy were guests in his home, Rhett seemed to regain a little strength and energy. He wanted them near him during his waking hours, few though they were. This aroused a pang of jealously in Scarlett. Had he felt that way about her when she was the only other person here, besides the servants? As petty as she felt admitting this to herself, she was envious of the relationship Ella and her children had enjoyed with Rhett over the years, and she wondered if Ella sensed it. Her feelings became obvious to Ella the evening after she and her children arrived.

Michael and Cathy were sitting on the bed flanking Rhett, listening to him as he started to tell a story about a pirate named Argonne, his first mate, Mr. Peapopper, a princess named Pinky and the princess' sister, Lady Lucy. As Rhett's voice wavered and faded one of the children would take over the storytelling, and continue the tale, remembered from an earlier time, for these stories were well-known to Michael and Cathy. Over the years when Rhett visited Ella and her family in New York, he told his stories to her children, and sometimes even continued the adventures in letters written to them.

Scarlett and Ella were in the sitting room knitting. Looking up from her needlework, Scarlett saw Ella smiling as she listened to the storytellers.

Ella caught her mother's glance and remarked, "You know, he used to tell us these same stories."

Scarlett raised her eyebrows questioningly, "Us?"

"Wade, Bonnie and me."

"Really?" Scarlett wasn't aware. In fact, she had little awareness of what Rhett did in the nursery when they lived together.

"Your children seem to know these silly tales by heart." Scarlett paused and looked at Ella, asking pointedly, "How long has he been seeing them?"

Ella turned to face her mother squarely. She could see in her expression and hear in her voice the irritation and hurt Scarlett felt upon realizing that after Rhett ruthlessly eliminated her from his life, he fostered a strong relationship with Michael and Cathy. "The children love Rhett, and he adores them. To them, he is the grandfather they've never had, just as he was the father I'd never had. How can you object to that, Mother?"

"You never told me," she said resentfully.

"There was no need. I didn't want to jeopardize their relationship for any reason, and I'm sure you would've had some very strong objections. Besides, Dan and Wade told me never to mention Rhett to you; that it would upset you too much and you might..."

Scarlett's irritation threatened to erupt into outright anger. She frowned at Ella. "Might what? Drink? Please, Ella! Didn't you think I'd gotten over my foolish dreams of reconciling with Rhett after what happened in Kentucky? You've kept this secret for _that_ reason?"

Ella chose to ignore the reference to her mother's weakness and events of the past, and instead focused on the more important consideration: her children. Like her mother, Ella had the tenacity of bulldog when something meant a great deal to her, and nothing in life was more important to her than her children. "Yes, I kept it secret to protect something precious. Can't you tell how much they love each other? Can't you see, Mother? It's not for us to interfere in a relationship that they cherish."

With a look of tight-lipped disapproval, Scarlett shook her head, stubbornly refusing to answer. So Ella repeated her question, "Can't you see that?"

Scarlett lifted her chin, and told Ella she was supremely indifferent. "It is of little consequence to me if Rhett chooses to tell the children silly stories."

"Mother, please! This isn't about storytelling, and you know it. I don't want to argue about it, but I think you are being very unfair. Think about Cathy and Michael, their happiness, not your own, and if it bothers you so much, not Rhett's either. Think of your grandchildren, not yourself." Ella spoke fervently, passionate in her defense of the relationship shared by her children and her stepfather.

"Well, I'm sorry if I offended you, Ella," Scarlett huffed.

Shaking her head, Ella rose and joined the group in the bedroom. As she sat down in the chair next to the bed, she announced, "Now it's my turn." The pirate, his first mate, the princess and her sister were off on a new adventure, as Ella told her favorite version of the tale. She ended the story with a lullaby, one that Scarlett recognized instantly as the song her mother had sung to her, and she in turn had sung to her own babies as she rocked their cradle. Hearing this made her feel small and mean. Just as that lullaby was a strong thread of love uniting the generations, so Rhett's stories would become such a bond, passing from him to Ella, her children, and her grandchildren yet to be born.

***

On Friday morning, after the doctor left, Michael asked Rhett to play a game of checkers with him. Michael sat on the bed, legs akimbo, with his elbows resting on his knees, chin held on the heels of his hands, intently studying the board which lay between them. When Rhett prodded him to make his move, Michael looked up at him and asked, "You're very sick, aren't you?" His wide blue eyes expressed his sadness.

The question hung in the air for a moment as it had taken Rhett by surprise. He studied Michael's face, then, nodded, "Yes."

"Will you get well?" Michael asked the question slowly with careful emphasis on each word, as if he already knew the answer but was hoping to hear something different. He bit his lower lip and looked down at the board again after he spoke.

"No, Michael, I won't, but I'm very happy you are here with me." As Rhett said this, he gently touched the boy's shoulder in order to get his attention. "When you were very small, I was sick and you came to see me; it made me feel better. You probably don't remember."

"No, sir, I don't," he said soberly.

"You gave me a picture that you drew. I still have it. I framed it and hung it up in my study next to a picture by a French artist." Rhett smiled remembering Michael's pride when he gave him the picture; and Degas' irritation when he saw one of his monotypes hanging next to a child's scribble. Michael did not smile. Rhett became solemn in deference to the boy's mood. "I love you, Michael."

"I love you, too, mon beau-père."

Rhett opened his arms to Michael, and he sidled up to Rhett to accept the hug, in the process he kicked the checker board, knocking off all the pieces. Rhett smiled, "Well, I guess this means I won the game since you've upset the board!"

Michael laughed. "Oh, no! We're going to play again." Swiftly, he rearranged the pieces to start a new game.

Overcome with fatigue, Rhett would have preferred to drift off to sleep, but time with Michael was precious, and now, limited. Sleep could wait.

A half hour later, Scarlett, Ella and Cathy returned from their trip to the market. Ella and Cathy took their baskets of produce to the kitchen, while Scarlett went upstairs to check on Rhett. In his room she saw Michael sitting on the bed watching him sleep. Scarlett held her upraised index finger against her lips, gesturing for Michael to remain silent, as she motioned for him to leave the room. Michael quietly slid off the bed, carefully picked up the checker board so as not to disturb the placement of the pieces, and put it on a table next to the window. Then he retrieved his shoes and padded out of the bedroom, glancing back at Rhett, asleep, still holding the last checker captured in his hand. Scarlett wrapped her arm around Michael's shoulders and kissed his forehead as they walked through the door into the sitting room, and then closed the bedroom door softly behind them.

After leaving Rhett's rooms with Michael, Scarlett heard voices downstairs and wondered who it could be. Sally Brewton had come to visit on Sunday, as was her custom. Preston said he would return. If that were the case Scarlett hoped his mother hadn't accompanied him.

Joseph came to get her, smiling warmly. "Missus Butler, you have more guests."

Scarlett was taken aback upon catching sight of Wade and Melanie taking off their coats in the front hall.

Melanie let out a joyful shout when she saw her cousin, Michael. She then boisterously greeted her grandmother, "Gran! Are you surprised?"

Immediately, Scarlett shushed the girl for fear of waking Rhett. "Shhh, Melanie, darling, don't be so loud! My goodness, how could I not be surprised! It's so good to see you both!" Hearing the voices of the newly arrived guests, Ella and Cathy came from the back of the house for a happy reunion with Wade and Melanie. Typically, Wade might see his sister once a year at Tara. The cousins always enjoyed their time together in the summer. Hugs and kisses were exchanged in a flurry of greetings. Wade searched his mother's face anxiously. She smiled reassuringly at him as she took his arm. "Rhett's asleep. Let's go into another room."

Scarlett led her children to the parlor to talk. She warned both Wade and Ella that Rhett could be irascible and the children needed to be quiet when indoors. She suggested keeping them out of the house for as long as possible. "Rhett's been getting weaker by the day. He will die soon," she said sadly.

Ella nodded in mournful agreement. This pessimistic report on the state of his stepfather's health elicited Wade's shock and dismay. After a few minutes of talk, Wade asked Ella if she minded if he spoke to Scarlett alone. Scarlett suggested Ella take the children to the library. Ezekiel had just started a fire there and the room would be warm by now.

"There are many things in there to keep them occupied, games like chess, checkers, dominoes, and Parcheesi, a huge globe, and a telescope," Scarlett said.

"Don't forget about the books," Ella remarked dryly.

Scarlett frowned at Ella. "Whatever it takes to divert their attention and keep them quiet. I don't care how you accomplish it."

Wade rolled his eyes, and shot his sister a look of wry amusement. "I'd like to see those legal documents Rhett gave you, Mother. Could you get them for me?"

As the women and children left the room, Wade began pulling papers out of his briefcase.

Scarlett returned shortly with the two folders. As she handed him the documents, Wade pointed to a pile of mail addressed to her, which he'd brought from Georgia. Wade perused the will, while Scarlett read her mail. Stationed next to the fireplace, she would read a page and drop it onto the grate to be consumed by the flames. Wade observed this, mildly surprised.

"I thought you saved your correspondence, Mother."

Scarlett looked up from the page she was reading, and asked tartly, "Are you my secretary?"

"Of course not," he replied.

Scarlett pointed to the folders. "Then stick to what you do best, and I'll take care of my mail as I see fit."

Wade knew from experience that this testiness was his mother's way of covering up her true feelings. He waited a moment before he asked her what was really bothering her.

Scarlett sat down on the settee next to Wade and looked into his eyes, those big, round, brown Hamilton eyes, so much like his Aunt Melanie's, and tears began to fill her own.

"I can't believe he's going to die. He's always been so strong." Her breath came in gasps as she wept. The feeling of pervasive sorrow she suppressed when she was with Rhett bubbled up to the surface in Wade's comforting presence. "If only I had known sooner…" As her voice tailed off, Wade wrapped his arms around her.

"You couldn't have changed a thing," he said soothingly.

Scarlett pulled away from him. "Did you know?" she asked in astonishment.

"Ella wrote me that he'd come back to the States, nothing else."

"So I'm the last to know anything?" Her incredulity gave way to bitterness. "Damn you all and your misplaced concern for my welfare!"

"Mother," he said gently, "we were only respecting Rhett's wishes."

A soft knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Scarlett wiped her eyes, then, rose and pulled open the pocket doors. Joseph informed her that Captain Butler was asking for her.

Turning to Wade she asked, "Shall we go up and see him?"

Wade nodded and started putting the various papers back into his briefcase. In the meantime Scarlett went to the library to get Melanie. She loved all her grandchildren, but Melanie was special to her. The child had something of Melanie Wilkes in her, as well as Scarlett's own outspokenness, and Bonnie's high-spirited nature. She and Melanie enjoyed a close relationship, and Scarlett was eager to introduce her to Rhett.

Scarlett started up the stairs with Wade and Melanie following close behind her.

She stood in the doorway of Rhett's bedroom and held her arm out, "Someone has come to visit you!" Wade brushed past her, but Melanie pressed herself against her grandmother's side. Scarlett stroked her long dark hair affectionately and gave her a reassuring look. She took Melanie's hand and led her into the room. Rhett and Wade were shaking hands, exchanging greetings. As Scarlett eased the girl toward the bed, both men looked up.

"Who is this young lady?" Rhett asked, even though he recognized the solemn-faced girl from Scarlett's pictures.

"Uncle Rhett, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Melanie Hamilton," Wade said.

Not one to be shy, Melanie dropped a curtsy. "How do you do, sir?"

"I've been better," Rhett spoke gruffly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hamilton."

"The pleasure is mine, I'm sure, sir." Melanie looked at Scarlett, and she smiled back, pleased with her granddaughter's fine manners.

Joseph had brought two more chairs to the bedside, and Scarlett, Wade and Melanie sat is a tight formation next to Rhett's bed.

"Uncle Rhett I hope you don't mind, I invited Melanie to join me," Wade said, laughing. "She refused to let me leave Atlanta without her."

"Papa!" protested Melanie.

Scarlett laughed as well. "Dear Melanie, I missed you badly at Christmas, I'm so glad you're here."

"We brought you a present, Gran," Melanie said eagerly, ready to jump out of her chair and fetch the gift.

"Not now, Melanie. Let's have a nice chat with Uncle Rhett first," Wade chastised mildly.

"Yes, Papa." Melanie folded her hands in her lap and assumed a demure expression, the picture of a perfect young lady.

When Rhett asked how their trip had been, Melanie jumped into the conversation with her own observations on the inefficiency of the rail system. Wade raised an eyebrow, and told Melanie to speak only when spoken to.

Taking that as Melanie's cue to leave, Scarlett rose and gestured to the girl, "Melanie dear, let's go see where you'll be sleeping." Scarlett nodded to the two men, took Melanie's hand and led her quietly from the room. They could hear the excited girl chattering as she walked down the hall.

"Are your other children this lively?" Rhett asked with amusement.

Wade sighed. "The other two girls, Annabelle and Caroline are sedate, more like me; but Teddy and Melanie are more like their mother, and grandmother. My wife's temperament is much like Mother's."

"You have my sympathy, son," Rhett said with a soft chuckle, as he patted Wade's arm.

***

The next morning, Cathy and Melanie were out on the piazza with a pair of binoculars looking at the ships in the harbor. Rhett awakened to the indistinct sounds of their conversation. When the maid came in to clean his sitting room, she opened the windows after sweeping, dusting and shoveling ashes out of the fireplace. The girls' voices wafted in on the light breeze through the open transom over the door to Rhett's bedroom.

He could hear Cathy asking her cousin, "If they're married, why don't they live together?"

Melanie replied, "I don't know. I didn't even know they were married; or that he was Aunt Bonnie's father; and you know how much Gran loved Aunt Bonnie. She told us."

It didn't surprise him that the children knew who Bonnie was; after all, Scarlett had her portrait hanging in the upstairs hall in her home. However, Melanie spoke of her in such a familiar way, as though she had known her. Rhett could only surmise that Scarlett and her children had kept Bonnie's memory alive.

Then he heard Ella's voice. "What are you girls up to?"

"Gran gave us binoculars to look at the ships, Mama."

"Aunt Ella, why didn't I ever meet Uncle Rhett before? Papa said he was a dear friend of Gran's, he didn't say they were married."

"Yes, Mama, why didn't mon beau-père tell us he was married to Gran?"

There was silence. Rhett listened intently, curious to hear how Ella would answer the girls' blunt questions. "I don't know. Sometimes grown-ups have a hard time living together. Some things are too painful to talk about." Ella paused again. "We were a family once, Mother and Uncle Rhett, Wade and Bonnie, and me. Then Bonnie died, and nothing was ever the same. Mon beau-père missed Bonnie tremendously; she was very dear to him, and he adored her. He left Atlanta, and Wade and I were sent away to school. We never all lived together again. But we were a family, and this is what family members do. When there is trouble, they help each other. Never forget that. Never forget that you are family and that you can always count on each other for help. Gran is here to help Uncle Rhett, and we are here to help Gran because when..." Again Ella paused, "when it is time to return to Atlanta, your Gran will need us."

Hearing Ella talk about family brought back Degas' words, the last time they were together. He told Rhett, "Living alone without a family, is really too hard. I never would have suspected it would cause me so much suffering. Here I am now, getting old, in poor health...I've really made a mess of my life on this earth."* Now he understood the cause of Degas' despair. If not for Scarlett and her children, this would also have been Rhett's fate. Ella, whose tender heart had been so badly bruised when she was a child, still had that special feeling for the family they had once been. Despite the old hurts, her love for her mother and stepfather brought her here. Rhett realized that Ella was right; the circle of their broken family had drawn together around him in his time of greatest need, wrapping him in a cocoon of love.

Then, the voices became indistinct. After taking the rug out, and beating it, the maid had returned to replace it on the floor and then shut the windows. Soon, Joseph would come in to attend to him and the day would begin.

**A/N: *Quote from Degas' letter to Mme. De Nittis, taken from _Impressionist Quartet: The Intimate Genius of Manet and Morisot, Degas and Cassatt_ by Jeffrey Meyer, p. 242. The next chapter is the last--hanky alert!**


	18. Chapter 18

**The usual disclaimer applies. I own nothing. Now, read it and weep! Thanks to all my unsigned reviewers, and everyone else who has read and reviewed.**

On Monday afternoon the children rushed into Rhett's sitting room with Ella close on their heels. They were returning from a visit to St. Catherine's Convent to see Sister Mary Joseph. It was the first time in many years that Ella had been to Charleston, and she was eager to introduce her children and niece to their gentle great-aunt. It was also another way of keeping the boisterous youngsters occupied and the house tranquil.

Wade and Scarlett were finishing tea. Rhett was reclining on the chaise, eyes closed, but he roused when the Ella and the children burst through the door. Scarlett acknowledged the group first, waving them to sit.

"We're going to have a party tonight," she announced.

"You mean for New Year's Eve, Gran?" Michael asked.

"Not exactly, it will be a birthday party," Scarlett replied, smiling.

"But it isn't anybody's birthday," said Melanie, puzzled.

Scarlett's eyes sparkled with excitement. "No, it isn't, but we aren't all together like this very often, so to end the old century and start the new, I want to have a birthday party, to celebrate what we missed this past year," then she looked right at Rhett, "and those birthdays we won't be together to celebrate next year. So I talked to the cook this morning, and she's going to bake a cake..."

The children started rapidly firing questions at her in their excitement, and Scarlett fielded them deftly.

"Oh, Gran, red velvet, right?" broke in Cathy.

"Cathy, don't interrupt Gran," Ella quickly admonished.

"It's all right, Ella. No, Cathy, not red velvet."

"Chocolate, right, Gran? I love chocolate."

"No, Melanie, not chocolate."

"Gran, I'm the oldest and you always say the oldest gets to choose the first night at Tara," interjected Michael, not wanting to let the girls get to choose the flavor.

"Michael, we are not at Tara, but the next time you're there, we'll have chocolate, or red velvet, or whatever flavor you want. Tonight we're going to have a lemon cake."

"Lemon! Who likes lemon?" Michael asked.

Melanie said, "No one. Chocolate's the best."

Cathy added, "No, red velvet is the best cake in the world, and no one in New York has even heard of it. Can you believe it?"

"That's because Yankees don't have any taste," Melanie asserted.

"Melanie, that's uncalled for." Scarlett spoke firmly. "Rhett is the oldest one here. Let's ask him what he would like."

Rhett had been watching the exchange between Scarlett and her grandchildren with fascination. He had never seen Scarlett interact with children like this. She was lovingly indulgent and they responded to her in kind.

He finally spoke up. "I like lemon cake."

Scarlett looked at him and smiled. "Imagine that!"

Rhett covered his mouth to disguise an amused smile. Scarlett wasn't fooled and winked at him conspiratorially.

"Now, you children will need to help me prepare. Come on, we have work to do and not much time. Cathy, I want you and Melanie to find Joseph, and ask him to give you a pair of garden shears... Of course I trust them not to hurt themselves, Michael... Children, you can't all talk at once because if you do you'll give me a headache, and then I shall be very angry with you..."

Scarlett left the room and went downstairs, the three children following her, all chattering spiritedly. Rhett, Wade and Ella could hear Melanie's voice rise above the others, "Gran, you give the best parties."

Rhett nodded appreciatively. Then he looked at his grown stepchildren. "Is she always like this with your children?"

Wade smiled. "Alicia says it takes a week to bring them back to earth after they've spent a few days with Mother."

Ella added, "Mother comes alive when they're with her."

Michael poked his head back in the room, "Uncle Wade, Gran says you have to go out with me to buy a few party supplies. You better hurry, too, Gran says 'right now'."

Wade obediently rose to do his mother's bidding. "I have my marching orders!" Then he left.

"Are you tired mon beau-père? Do you want to go back to bed?" Ella asked. His eyelids drooped half-closed making him look so fatigued that most of the time she couldn't tell, but her concern for him was evident.

Rhett nodded, "Please call Joseph for me. Once he is done with whatever task Scarlett has set upon him, I'll need his assistance."

Ella took Rhett's hand and pressed it against her cheek. She smiled and spoke softly, "Whatever you wish, I'll do it for you."

He squeezed her hand affectionately. "There is something you can do for me, Ella. Go into my bedroom and look in the top drawer of the desk." Rhett instructed Ella to find him some writing paper, pen and ink, and to bring them, along with a blotter and lap desk. He needed to write two notes, one for his sister and one for his wife, while he still had the strength to hold the pen.

Rhett closed his eyes and leaned back against the chaise. Having Wade, Ella and their children here was wonderful, but also tiring. If only he weren't so weak, he could truly enjoy this company. His life was ebbing away, and he treasured these last little glimpses into the adult lives of his stepchildren.

After supper, a brief party was held in Rhett's sitting room. Scarlett and the children had worked hard to prepare for this celebration. Joseph and Ezekiel rearranged the furniture so that a round table was in the center of the large room. The girls had cut the last flowers from the garden and the blossoms were floating in a glass bowl set in the middle of the table. Streamers and balloons were attached to the window frames. Wade and Michael found a small model of an old-fashioned two-mast sailing ship, which Scarlett placed in the center of the cake. "We're sailing into the twentieth century tonight," she said as she nodded at the cake approvingly. She placed candles around the edge of the cake and lit them for the children to blow out after shouting 'Happy Birthday' and 'Happy New Year.'

The cake was cut and served with punch. Scarlett prevailed upon Rhett to eat a few bites of it, and he pronounced it the best lemon cake he had ever tasted, even though it left him feeling nauseated.

Once the dishes were cleared, Wade and Ella took the children out. Later that evening, Cathy, Michael, and Melanie danced around the garden with sparklers and lit Roman candles under Wade's watchful guidance.

Joseph and Scarlett helped Rhett to bed. He asked Scarlett to stay with him for awhile. His stomach was still upset, and he vomited the small serving of cake.

He grimaced in discomfort. "You should have made something the children would like. It was wasted on me."

"No, they have to learn sometime, life isn't about satisfying one's own desires." Scarlett winced. "I'm afraid I lost much of value learning that lesson."

She wiped his face with a cool cloth and gave Rhett a glass of water to rinse his mouth. He took deep breaths to keep the waves of nausea in check, and Scarlett stroked his hair as she held the cloth to his forehead.

"You've been so good to me since you came, Scarlett. I can never return the kindness." Her constancy was an unexpected blessing that Rhett appreciated more than he could say.

"Don't be silly," she said tenderly. "You've done much for me in the past."

Scarlett sat with him until she was sure he was asleep. Later, as the clock struck midnight and the new millennium began, Wade, Ella, and their children watched fireworks exploding over the harbor. Scarlett left them to go check on Rhett.

Asleep, it looked as though he had the pallor of death. After checking to make sure he was still breathing, she brushed a kiss across his cheek and whispered 'Happy New Year' softly next to his ear. To her surprise, he opened his eyes, reached up, pulled her head toward him and kissed her gently. She hugged him lightly, whispering her love, and he gazed lovingly at her as she straightened up, his lips moving wordlessly, emitting only a soft moan. Then he went back to sleep almost immediately.

***

She appeared, like a vision, his lost love, hovering over him. He reached for her, pulling her towards him, and kissed her. He wanted badly to tell her what he felt, but the words wouldn't come. His mouth was too dry, his tongue, furred. Then sleep reclaimed him.

***

Tears slid down Scarlett's face unchecked as she slipped out of the room to rejoin her family on the piazza. It occurred to her that she had accomplished what she yearned for with all her heart for twenty-seven years; she brought Rhett back to her side and he responded, as she always knew he would, with love. It was a bittersweet way to end the old century.

The next morning, Scarlett sat with Rhett, who was again sick to his stomach. After the third episode of vomiting he told her, "I've stopped making water." His voice was reedy and weak.

Scarlett knew from talking to Dr. Magruder that this was an ominous sign. His kidneys had stopped working, so his end was only hours, perhaps days, away. She studied his face; he was becoming more jaundiced. Pain was etched on his features. With a heavy heart, she was forced to acknowledge the inevitable. "It's time. I'll call for the doctor."

Rhett nodded his head.

Joseph telephoned the doctor's house and let him know that Captain Butler needed him. Dr. Magruder came with the medicines necessary to ease the symptoms of Rhett's last hours. He gave Scarlett explicit instructions for the administration of both preparations, wished her well, and told her to contact him at the end.

Scarlett sent word to Rosemary to come immediately. For the next day and a half she kept watch over her husband. At night, Wade or Ella would relieve her vigil so she could sleep for short periods on the cot at the foot of Rhett's bed.

Just after midnight on the third day of the new year, a noise roused Scarlett from a light sleep. Ella sat holding her stepfather's hand. Scarlett recognized the breathing pattern which precedes death, and despite the fact that she had been anticipating this for weeks, she was gripped with panic and despair. She wanted to cry out, "Don't leave me", but the man for whom those words were meant left her long ago, and she knew that nothing could alter the course of the their lives in the next few hours.

"How long has he been breathing like this?" Scarlett asked her daughter, her heart in her throat.

"About forty-five minutes," replied Ella before adding, "I didn't want to wake you yet."

Scarlett climbed onto the bed and sat close to him. Biting her lip to fight back her tears, she gathered him into her arms, kissed his brow, and encouraged him to let go. "Bonnie's waiting for you, Rhett." For the next three hours, Scarlett sat holding him, lightly stroking his hair, as his respiratory rate slowed and his breaths became increasingly shallow until they finally stopped.

Ella, still holding his hand, was weeping silently. Scarlett got up off the bed, after giving Rhett a gentle good bye kiss, and went to her stricken daughter. She embraced Ella and said, "He's happy now; I'm sure of it."

Then Scarlett took a seat by the window, looking to the east, watching for the sun to rise before alerting the servants and the rest of her family. As she waited, she felt something stir within her; it was as though the movement of Rhett's spirit brought forth the memory of an early morning such as this over thirty years ago.

Scarlett remembered she was in the middle of her pregnancy with Bonnie. The curse of morning sickness had passed. Rhett had awakened especially early and sat gently running his fingers over her cheek until she also woke up. Then he rained kisses upon her face, lips and breasts, all the while caressing her swelling abdomen, the cradle of their unborn child. He pulled her onto her side and entered her, calling her name softly. As his tempo quickened, she moved to meet his rhythm. She ran her fingers through his hair and explored the skin on his upper back and chest with her hands. Kissing his neck she tasted his saltiness, smelled his musk. After he reached his release they remained joined. He looked into her eyes and asked her tenderly, "How is our baby today?" Scarlett smiled and took his hand, placing it on the side of her belly. The baby was moving. A beautiful smile lit his face and he kissed her.

When the memory faded, an incredible feeling of peace washed over her. Like the streak of a falling star across the night sky, she realized that this sweet memory, which came swiftly, then vanished, was his spirit whispering to her: "See how much I loved you." She put her hand on her chest, as though feeling her heart as it broke into a thousand pieces, and began to cry. Ella, still in the room, came to her side and reached out to her mother. She stood, and they clutched each other tightly. "He loved me," Scarlett sobbed, "he just told me so."

Later that morning, the doctor came and prepared the death certificate. As he was about to leave, Dr. Magruder turned to Scarlett and said, "You did well, Mrs. Butler. He lasted longer than I thought possible." Scarlett took comfort from that comment; her presence might have been of benefit in some way.

Rosemary arrived three days later. Scarlett was now free to return to Georgia. Wade and the children had gone ahead several days before. Rhett left Rosemary an exhaustive checklist of things to do before closing up the house, so Scarlett and Ella stayed behind to help her tie up some loose ends.

When Scarlett and Ella appeared to say good-bye, Rosemary was in Rhett's study, going through the papers in the safe. She picked up a large folder and waved it at Scarlett. "These are some papers Rhett thought you might want."

"Could you send them to my lawyer in Atlanta?" Then curiosity got the best of her, and she asked, "What are they anyway?"

"Your marriage certificate, Bonnie's birth and death certificates. There is something else here," Rosemary said, looking a little embarrassed, "divorce papers, dated October 1886, which were never signed and filed. Are you sure you don't want to take them now?"

Scarlett stared at the folder in disbelief, amazed by the thought that Rhett had come that close to divorcing her after their explosive encounter the night of the Kentucky Derby, but somehow, something had changed his mind. With sudden clarity, she realized that had Rhett gone through with it, he would not have asked her to come here and share these last days with him, these days which had been his final gift to her, however unintended. They had managed to share a level of intimacy that had eluded them in marriage, and been more honest with one another than previously possible.

"No, Rosemary, just send them to Atlanta." Scarlett and Ella embraced Rosemary and said their good-byes.

Joseph waited for Scarlett in the entry hall, holding out an envelope for her.

"Captain Butler asked me to give this to you before you left," he said.

Scarlett made no move to take the envelope, "Thank you, Joseph. What are you going to do now?"

"Captain Butler left me some money. He told me he would. I'm going back home and buy a house, then, I'm going to find a good wife." Joseph smiled broadly.

Scarlett smiled in return, "That was very generous of him. I'm going to miss you, Joseph. Thank you for everything you did for Rhett."

"You're welcome, Missus. He was a generous man. You been good to him, too." Joseph lightly thrust the envelope toward Scarlett, with a look entreating her to take it.

Scarlett stared at the envelope. "Take it, Mother," urged Ella.

She took the envelope, looked from Joseph to Ella, and then back to the envelope in her hand. She opened it and read.

_31 December 1900_

_Dear Scarlett,_

_Thank you for staying here with me these last three weeks. You've made this time easier with your care and concern for my well-being. You, your children, and grandchildren have surrounded me with love. Yours has been the greatest gift of this, or any Christmas._

_Know this, and never forget; you were my one true love. I will hold you in my heart forever._

_Rhett_

As her eyes filled with tears, Scarlett held out the note for Ella to read. When she had finished, Ella nodded her head. "He's right, Mother. Love freely given, without expectation of anything in return, is always the greatest gift."

Joseph smiled, "Goodbye Missus Butler, Missus Connelly. Safe journey." He held the door open for the two women.

Ella linked arms with her mother as they walked toward the carriage waiting to take them to the train station, and said, "Let's go home."


End file.
